


Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now

by TurnUps



Series: Hand in Glove - Drarry [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Werewolf Draco, but i cant guarantee everyones safety, deathly hallows rewrite, everyone is gay or trans to spite rowling, no character death that wasn't already happening in hallows, not a fix it but definitely wishfulfilment, with canon drarrry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 127,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnUps/pseuds/TurnUps
Summary: They hadn’t discussed Hogwarts. Or Voldemort. Or magic. Not for the week they had been out there – and Harry hadn’t wanted to think of it. He had wanted to pretend they were normal. Pretend that this could be their life.But it wasn’t. The longer they were out here, the more often Ron and Hermione popped back into his head. This was a nice game of fantasy, but it couldn’t last much longer.He paused, trying the words out on his mouth before he said them. "We'll have to go back, you know.""Do we?" Draco asked.He wet his lips, stroked Draco’s hair. "At least for Bill and Fleur's wedding."*Third installment of Hand In Glove, featuring the Deathly Hallows
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, background Ginny/Luna, background sirius/lupin
Series: Hand in Glove - Drarry [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1142606
Comments: 204
Kudos: 387





	1. Chapter 1

“Potter.”

Draco’s voice came from somewhere above him. Harry groaned and tried to bury his face in his pillow. But it was too late. He had already been roused from sleep and now he was back in the realm of the living. Draco’s mouth peppered his jaw, which wasn’t an unpleasant way to wake up. His hands pushed Harry’s shoulder back around, kissing his cheekbones as well.

"What?" Harry opened his eyes enough to see Draco above him, smirking.

“Happy birthday, trouble.” Draco caught Harry’s mouth in his own, kissing him way too deeply for so early in the morning. He could barely think straight and suddenly Draco’s tongue was halfway down his throat.

“Mmm.” Harry’s hands found Draco’s shoulders, but he didn’t have the energy to push him away.

“You can finally do magic without getting expelled.” Draco’s tongue was back out, tracing down Harry’s jaw until his teeth grazed the skin under his ear. He played with the area like it was a sweet and the sharp pain helped wake Harry up.

“My birthday was a week ago, and you’ve told me that every morning since.”

He carded his fingers through Draco’s hair. It fell forward from his fingers in strands, catching the sunlight so that it looked as if it was glowing. Paris had been good for him. It had brought as much colour as possible for Draco to have back to his cheeks – he looked ivory instead of like a corpse. His hair was back to being white-blonde instead of lank and greasy. The spark was back in his eyes.

“I know.” Draco pulled away to smile down at Harry, kissing the corner of his mouth again, then continuing to work at Harry’s neck. He went lower, tracing his way down Harry’s throat and pulling his oversized pyjama top aside to press his wet lips against his collarbone.

“Draco?”

“Mm?”

“What are you doing?”

Draco was actually sliding his hands under Harry’s top, the tips of his fingers moving so slowly that it made Harry’s breath catch. The touch tingled.

“Giving you a belated birthday present.” Draco looked up, a wolfish smirk on his face.

Harry smiled because it felt like there was an electric current through his body. He smiled because Draco’s hand slipped its way into his pants and he raised his hips to allow him entry.

And yet he still couldn’t resist a quip. "Is this a fancy way of telling me that you didn't buy anything for me?"

"Ungrateful." Draco's hand withdrew, and Harry was unpleasantly cold. "Since when did you care about material possessions anyway?"

"Now that I'm the Chosen One, I have to make up for all the deprivation I had as a child," Harry said.

Draco snorted. His hand went around Harry’s back instead, his head resting on his stomach. It was a pleasant, warm weight. The curtains blocked out just enough of the sun to make everything appear gold. It was warm and there was a light breeze coming through the window. Pigeons cooed on the windowsill, but it was still too early for anyone to be out.

Harry could have stayed like this – wished they could stay like this. To waking up late in the morning, heading to the patisserie down the road for black coffee and croissants – sitting outside under a parasol with a cigarette whilst Draco scrunched his nose up at the smell and buried himself in a pretentious paperback. To spending the afternoon wandering in old castles, old museums, old streets until they ate a late dinner and spent the evening sat out by the river, swigging from spirit bottles and talking about anything but Hogwarts.

They hadn’t discussed Hogwarts. Or Voldemort. Or magic. Not for the week they had been out there – and Harry hadn’t wanted to think of it. He had wanted to pretend they were normal. Pretend that this could be their life.

But it wasn’t. The longer they were out here, the more often Ron and Hermione popped back into his head. This was a nice game of fantasy, but it couldn’t last much longer.

He paused, trying the words out on his mouth before he said them. "We'll have to go back, you know."

"Do we?" Draco asked.

He wet his lips, stroked Draco’s hair. "At least for Bill and Fleur's wedding."

" _Do_ we?"

"Yes. Draco."

He gave an overdramatic sigh, resting his chin on Harry’s stomach. It dug into him as he spoke. "But I was planning to go to the Eiffel Tower this evening and propose."

Harry raised himself onto his elbows. "Really?"

"You wish." But he was smirking.

So, Harry flopped back down onto the bed. "Bill and Fleur's wedding it is, then."

"Colour me ecstatic." Draco was already slipping out from the covers, but Harry managed to hook an arm around his waist, pulling him back. He pressed his face against his back, running his mouth over Draco's spine to get a shiver out of him before asking -

"What about my birthday present?"

"Oh, you want that now?" He leant back now, fingertips running down Harry's arms and making him shiver.

"Yes." Harry paused. "No. I don't know."

Draco turned, then. Turned and knelt in front of the bed so that they were eye-level. He took Harry's hands in his own, like they were something precious. Then he squeezed them, bringing them to his lips.

"Do you trust me, Harry?"

It was always serious when he used Harry's first name.

Harry nodded. Obviously. Obviously he trusted Draco unequivocally.

"Then trust me now."

He nodded again, and Draco leant forward to plant a kiss on his mouth. His fingers were in Harry's pyjama pants. Harry wondered why this felt scarier than the TriWizard Tournament ever had.

But it was Draco. And he trusted him. And he loved him.

*

It was on Harry’s birthday that Draco had suggested it. A week ago. They had been lying in bed and Harry’s mind had been whirring. Hogwarts, Paris, horcuxes. Paris, horcruxes, Hogwarts. None seemed like the right answer, and he had fallen into a light an uneasy sleep, imagining fifty different outcomes.

When he had half-woken in the middle of the night and had rolled over to seek out Draco’s warmth.

Only Draco hadn’t been there.

So he had sat up to find a shadow crouched over a bag.

“Malfoy,” he whispered.

The shadow had jumped. Had looked at him, and then sat down on the end of the bed.

“I’m going, Potter. I’m getting out of here.”

“You’re leaving me.”

“I’m leaving everything." There was a pause. "I don't want to die in a war that's not my problem."

Harry flung back the covers then. He was on his feet and he didn't know how he got there.

"No, it's not your problem, Draco. But it is mine. It's mine because someone decided to make a prophecy about me - because _he_ has decided that he wants to kill _me_ , and he won't stop until he does. It's _my_ problem and _my_ war whether I want it to be or not!"

"And you don't have to _stay."_ Draco stood. His hands found Harry's in the dark, his fingers not quite interlocking. Just - half-tangled like he needed to see to figure them out. "You can let the Order find the horcruxes. You can let the Order kill the Dark Lord - or do what they did sixteen years ago. Then we can deal with it in another ten years - when we're adults."

"I have to be the one to do it." He was whispering, and not because Sirius and Lupin's bedroom was way too close for comfort.

"Because Dumbledore said so? The same Dumbledore who insisted you live with Muggles that kept you locked under the stairs for ten years?"

Harry could feel his lip trembling and was grateful- so grateful that they couldn't see each other. His chest felt tight. Everything was changing - everything had changed very quickly. Draco was one the things that had change but he was the only thing that had changed for the better. Losing that would be the last straw.

"Don't leave," he said.

"Come with me."

"I _can't."_

"Not forever then," Draco said. "Just a holiday. Because it's your birthday and if anyone needs a holiday, it's you."

Harry was still quiet. Draco rearranged their linked hands, but they still weren't slotting together in the right way.

"Now?" he whispered.

"Now."

"What about - Sirius?"

Draco's fingers tightened. "Safer if he doesn't know."

"You expect me to just walk out on my –"

"Potter, use your tiny brain for just a moment. Think. The Dark Lord is looking for you. Its not safe here - not now you're seventeen. So you have to leave. _We_ have to leave. So we leave."

"No."

"Paris. For a few days. That's leaving." Draco's hands rearranged themselves again. "The Dark Lord is looking. Where do you think he'll look first? Who do you think he'll question first? Ignorance is safe. Ignorance kept me safe."

"What?"

"They can’t get information out of you if you don’t have it." There was something in Draco's voice. A desperation. Before his voice became low and he brought Harry's hands to his chest. "You can stay here. But I'm can't. And I don't want to watch you die, so I'd like it if you came with me."

Harry's fingers were slowly sliding out of Draco's grip. "You're going even if I don't?"

"I have to." At least Draco had the decency to sound regretful.

Harry's heart had stopped. For a long moment, he just stared at Draco's silhouette. His eyes had adjusted enough to the dark that he could see grey eyes and the outline of a thin nose.

"I can't let you go alone," Harry repeated.

"You don't have to."

" _You_ don't have to."

"I don't want to die. I don't want to be tortured. I don't want to see _you_ tortured. Again. Don't make me do that, Harry. Let me be a coward."

Gryffindors were brave. Gryffindors weren't meant to be cowards. It went against the house rules. But Harry had never wanted to be one any more than in that moment. When Draco's hands were buried in his shirt, his voice breaking on the word 'tortured.' Staying in a broken whisper.

He put his hands over Draco's fists. They were shaking.

"A few days," Harry whispered. "A week at most. We have to be there for Bill and Fleur's wedding."

Draco collapsed against him.

He had never seemed so small before. So fragile.

Fear did that to people. Harry knew that better than anyone.

*

And he was right to trust Draco. He was left, lying on his back on the bed feeling like he was floating on air. Not floating - bloody soaring all the way back across the channel.

Draco leant above him, hair falling either side of his face like blonde curtains. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips swollen and his cheeks flushed. He'd never looked prettier, in Harry's opinion.

He looked Harry over, before giving him a final kiss.

"Looks like you don't even want your real present," he murmured, his mouth close to Harry's ear. He dropped the rest of his weight onto Harry that they were pressed together from their chests down to their tangled legs.

"It's my birthday," Harry said. It was hard to clear the fog in his head. "I only ever used to get socks on my birthday - before - before Hogwarts."

"Your childhood was non-existent."

"Mm."

"Let's make up for it now, Chosen One. I'll buy you any toys your heart desires." Draco's fingers trailed down Harry's chest, circling the middle.

Harry caught them. Pulled their linked hands away and let his head fall back. "If I'm the chosen one we have to go back."

Draco sighed, but he didn't argue.

"I - I didn't-" Harry was still trying to think straight. "Do anything - did you need me to - you know?"

Draco's hand twitched in his. "I took care of it."

"Ah."

"You're an innocent dork."

"Shut up."

Draco kissed his cheek. They stayed, laying on the king-sized bed, completely tangled up in each other. They didn’t move for a while, still catching their breath and waiting for the world to stop spinning. Harry thought if he didn’t say anything, they could stretch this moment out forever. There would just be this.

But time was passing. He could hear movement in the rooms next to them – hear pigeons waking up on the windowsill.

This moment would have to end. This holiday would have to lose.

"If we want to make it back today, we need to get up." Harry finally said. Without conviction, but he was trying to shift Draco off of him.

And of course, Draco went perfectly limp on top of him. “Never agreed to leave today.”

“Ron and Hermione are my friends.” Harry took a breath and felt his ribs ache with the effort. “It’s not about the war, it’s about them. They’ve stuck by me through absolutely everything, and they’ve been good to you too.”

“Not because they wanted to be.”

“Well, I’m going.” With effort, Harry wiggled out from underneath Draco, pushing his hair away from his face and groping a hand for his glasses on the bedside table.

A hand pressed them into his palm. Behind him, Draco sighed and pressed his forehead against Harry’s shoulder.

“Fine.”

All morning, Harry wasn’t sure if that meant Draco was coming or not. He methodically packed up and got ready, feeling numb. It had only been a few days, but nothing else felt real. Hermione and Ron seemed like a distant idea, and Hogwarts was one long dream.

That was probably the only reason he could face going back. If he didn’t think too far ahead – didn’t think about how furious everyone would be for him disappearing like that, then he could do this.

He was attaching his trunk to his broom when Draco appeared, Nimbus 2001 slung over one shoulder. There was a cramped alley behind the hotel that was abandoned. It was an ideal place to take-off from in broad daylight. If all went to plan, they’d be above the clouds before anyone noticed.

And what did it matter if they were spotted? Could Harry even get in trouble with the ministry anymore? Now that he was everyone’s last hope and the world was ending anyway.

“You owe me a slow dance,” Draco said.

“Of course, babe.” He reached a hand out, but it fell short of Draco’s shoulder.

If they went back, they were both in danger. He was doing that. He was putting Draco in danger.

Draco laced their fingers together. He didn’t smile or say a word.

Then he dropped them, and mounted his broom. “Ready?”

Harry let the firebolt raise from the ground. “I never am.”

*

They flew and Harry tried to think of any way to explain to everyone else what had happened. Where they had been. Why they had disappeared. He could hardly explain it himself. Maybe because he knew that it was his last chance to do something for himself until after the war. And he was all too aware that he might not see the end of it. It was a thought that was easy to comprehend on the surface – he might die – but when he really thought about that, the finality of that, he thought he might go insane.

The ride was dull. It was a fairly sunny day, but up this high and in the clouds it was cold and his clothes were damp. There was only the grey slosh of the channel underneath them for way too long, and Draco was too far away for decent conversation.

That was probably on purpose. His brow was furrowed and his face paler than usual. Draco was angry about this – he was furious that their escape plan was ruined. That he hadn’t saved Harry.

That’s what it was about, he realised that on the slow journey. He assumed Draco was doing all this – pushing him to do all of this – because it kept Harry out of everything. It saved him from the war.

But he couldn’t sit tight and let everyone else do the fighting – do the dying – for him. It was a nice fantasy, that one week of black coffees and entwined hands and sunny days, but that was all it could be.

At least Harry had something to hang on to. Now, he felt like a lamb flying off to slaughter.

Because, if Voldemort didn’t kill him, then the others certainly would. Sirius would be furious, Lupin would be disappointed. They would both be haggard and drained. Hermione and Ron would be livid too, because he had disappeared without them. And his reasoning was entirely selfish.

There was hardly a way to explain this. He could only hope that everyone would be so relieved that he was back, they would forget to be angry.

He was wrong.

Hermione was first out of the Burrow when they landed. There was a huge, white marquee being set up on the field by the ramshackle house, and they touched down in-between the two. The wedding was actually the next day, but apparently the preparations were being made early. The mud was thick and there was a squelch from underneath Harry’s trainers as he dismounted.

There was a flurry of activity everywhere, hardly anyone had noticed the two’s arrival.

Apart from Hermione and Ron. They were charging across the grass – Ron’s face pale and Hermione’s face crimson. He had no idea what to say. What could he say?

“Hi, Herm –”

She slapped him. Right across the face, so hard that half of his face stung. His head had whipped around with the movement and he was left blinking at the side of the burrow instead of her.

“Tell me something that only you would know,” she demanded.

Which actually wasn’t that far from the welcome wagon he’d been expecting. Still, he rubbed his cheek and thought about the answer.

“In second year, we tried to brew a Polyjuice potion to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room-”

“You did what?” If Draco hadn’t been angry before, he was now.

“And we found out what happens if you put cat hair in instead of human hair.”

“You did _what_?” Draco was snickering, which Harry was thankful for, because it turned the heat of Hermione’s glare off of him.

“Oh, at least I can tell if my closest friends are using Polyjuice potion,” Hermione snapped.

Draco raised his hands. “That’s not fair, you could replace Crabbe and Goyle with two bricks and no one would be able to tell the difference.”

“He has a point there.” Ron stepped forward, finally, looking Harry up and down, hesitating. He knew he’d probably changed – for one thing he was sure that he was wearing Draco’s shirt, which was definitely too small and a far cry from his normal shapeless jumpers and t-shirts.

Harry opened his arms, slightly and that wiped the hesitation away. Ron hugged him – his arms tight. Almost too tight, and yet he was sure Ron was suffocating as well. They buried their heads into each other’s shoulders. They hadn’t done this before – but it felt like the only thing they could do.

“And I suppose you’re the reason that Harry up and disappeared without telling anyone?” Hermione was demanding Draco.

“Believe me, if I could get him to disappear for longer, I would have.”

“How selfish and conceited do you have to be –"

“I had missed your cutting glares and bottomless hatred, Granger.”

“Everyone’s been going nuts,” Ron muttered, then pulled away from Harry, holding him at arm’s length. Blue eyes studied him. “Are you okay, mate?”

Harry nodded.

“Where have you _been_?” Hermione pushed Ron to one side, enveloping Harry in a hug that left him buried in her bushy hair. Through the dark curls he saw Ron clap Draco on the shoulder and say ‘hey, mate.’

“Maybe – maybe we should do this inside,” Harry said. He pulled away to meet her gaze. “All at once, in front of everyone, so that I don’t have to repeat myself fifty times.”

Hermione’s hands squeezed his arms. She nodded. “Okay.”

She led him across the field. As they were trudging through the mud, Draco’s hand found his. Squeezed tightly. Ron was going on about the wedding, about the plans they had and how Fred and George had been a huge help. They’d anonymously donated their mum a lump sum to pay for expenses. When she had found out, she had appeared on their doorstep in tears.

“The family’s back together,” Ron said. “Well, as much as it can be. Percy’s still busy with work. He’s not Scrimageour’s man, but he’s got a good position. Good money. Mum needs that. And of course, Dad’s…”

“Yeah.”

The inside of the Burrow was full of people rushing backwards and forwards. Each of them glanced at their arrival, then did a double take when they realised who it was.

“Living room,” Hermione said. “We’re going to be having a long talk, I’m sure.”

She all but pushed Harry onto the sagging sofa, sniffing when Draco sat beside him. Ron was left as a makeshift guard as she ran up and down the stairs, gathering members of the order and the Weasleys.

Sirius was the one who stumbled in first.

Harry stood back up. All of his thought-out excuses and explanations died in his throat. He wouldn’t have been able to speak for the lump in it, anyway.

He didn’t have to. Sirius crossed the room in two strides and pulled Harry to him, one hand on the back of his head as though he was checking that all of him was there. All of him was safe. His grip was tight – so tight that Harry thought he was going to crack underneath the pressure.

Lupin was staring at him from over Sirius’ shoulder. (When had he become tall enough for that?)

“Tell me something that –”

“Hermione and I already checked,” Ron said. “It’s definitely them.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”

“It was better if we didn’t tell anyone.” Draco said. He was getting to his feet too, just in time for Lupin to catch his shoulders. To check him over like a mother cat, fingers lingering over Draco’s forearm. Draco pulled away before he went in for a hug, staring at the floor. He looked bashful to Harry.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. Sirius pulled away, cradling his face in his hands like he was a small child. He _felt_ like a small child. Silly and scared and way too small to be the Chosen One.

“Which would be sensible, if it wasn’t _me.”_ Sirius’ voice was low. “I’d die to protect you.”

“I can’t let you do that.” Harry could barely hear himself.

“I told you!” That was Ginny, running into the room with her hair behind her, like an orange streamer. “I told you they wouldn’t miss the wedding!”

She almost crashed into Sirius, grabbing Harry’s arm and squeezing it tightly. He tried to smile at her, but his face couldn’t quite remember how to do it.

“Not for the world.” And it really was coming down to that.

Ten minutes later, Mrs Weasley had everyone sat down with mugs of tea in their hands. There was a tense silence over the room. Hermione broke it. She leant forward and put her full mug on the coffee table.

“Where were you?”

“Paris.”

“Do you know how dangerous –”

Draco cut across her. “We took the necessary precautions.”

That was true. They had rigorously cast every cloaking spell they knew to make sure that they weren’t recognised. It had saved them a lot of money.

“Why?” It was Sirius who asked, in a rattling, dry voice.

“Because we didn’t want to be in a warzone,” Draco muttered.

Sirius was still staring at Harry. He ran through all of the reasons Draco had told him in his head and realising that it was none of them.

He couldn’t answer the way everyone wanted him to.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he whispered.

The silence was almost suffocating.

“So, what’s the plan?” Ron was halfway through his tea.

“Ron!” Hermione frowned at him, but he just shrugged.

“Harry’s back. We need a plan. I assume we’re not going back to Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts is – it’s always been the safest place.” Mrs Weasley’s hands were shaking so badly that she had to put the mug down.

“Not now that Snape’s in charge,” Ron continued. “Rumour has it that he’s hired two Death Eater’s as well. Going back would be walking right into a trap. And even if it wasn’t, it’s not like last year was particularly great about Harry and Draco being – you know.”

“Well,” Fred shrugged in the corner. “Four out of seven kids graduating is still over half.”

“Yeah, you haven’t let us down, mum,” George added.

Mrs Weasley gave a half-sigh, a half sob. “The world’s let you down. That’s why I’m upset. You shouldn’t be scared to go back to Hogwarts in case – in case you get –”

She was always so bright, warm and _strong,_ that Harry had to cut across her. He couldn’t stand seeing her break down like this.

“The horcruxes are our only option,” he said. “If we aren’t at Hogwarts, we should be finding them.”

“You should be being kept safe,” Sirius said. “You shouldn’t be going anywhere. Especially not after this latest stunt. You – you’re grounded. You’re both grounded.”

“You can’t do that,” Harry said.

“Of course I can. I’m your Godfather.”

“But-”

“You will stay somewhere safe. The Order will search for the Horcruxes.”

He was stunned for a moment. He'd never heard Sirius sound so strict. Adults were never that strict, especially not with him.

"I know a lovely hotel in Paris," Draco said.

Hermione glared at him.

“Grimmauld Place will be far enough.”

"I could go with you," Harry told Sirius, but Sirius just shook his head. His mouth was a firm line.

"There's something else we should tell you." Lupin perched on the arm of the sofa, hesitant as though it would burn him. "Whilst you were away, Hestia Jones..."

His stomach dropped. No one met his eye as he stared around at the gathered Weasley's. His gathered family.

"How?" It came out as a croak.

"We don't know all of the details. We know they ambushed him - and that they were looking for information. We guessed they didn't get it." Lupin sounded distant, as if he had said this several times.

"I'm sorry." Harry didn't know how, but he knew he was responsible.

What had they been thinking? To disappear like that – when there was a war? It would have been so easy for them to have been found – for them to have been hurt.

But it had been Jones instead.

It was enough to make him feel like doing something reckless again. Maybe Draco was right – maybe it was safer to leave and forget about all of this.

The silence was broken by Bill tumbling down the stairs, talking rapidly about dress robes and hair and had “anyone seen dad’s cuff links?”

Mrs Weasley stood, brushing herself down as though she could rub away the dour mood with it.

“And of course, we’ll have to find a way to disguise you, Harry. There’ll be so many people coming, and there’s no way of knowing who will keep their lips sealed.”

“Right.” Harry’s voice was distant. How could they go from discussing a man’s death to wedding arrangements?

Maybe it would have been better to stay in Paris. Things seemed to be going just fine and there had been a load off of his shoulders. Now he was back and it was back to hiding who he was as opposed to the fact they had no money. It was back to deaths and responsibilities and he was exhausted already.

How could he be sure that this was the right choice at all?


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding.

2

Scrimgeour appeared in the early evening. Half of the party at the Burrow had to make themselves scarce just in case they got arrested. He hadn’t realised just how many criminals that he knew.

It didn’t help that Mrs Weasley had been busy whipping up a belated birthday cake for Harry. That only twisted the knife of guilt further into him. He hadn’t been here for his birthday – he’d been selfish and stayed at home because he had so desperately wanted Sirius to be his – dad? – and then disappeared without a word.

It had been the first birthday he’d had in a long time that he hadn’t celebrated with the Weasley’s.

And they were his family, as much as Sirius was.

Scrimgeour had come because Dumbledore’s will had been released. Rather, they had finished checking every object thoroughly for hexes, curses and charms.

Harry found himself oddly disappointed that they hadn’t found anything – that they had given them back. It felt as though Dumbledore hadn’t really cared – not enough to try and give them anything that would make the Ministry worried or angry.

Instead, he had given them…strange things.

Draco had looked at the small collection of items in front of them, after Scrimgeour was gone, and raised an eyebrow, “what a load of rubbish.”

“You’re jealous because Dumbledore didn’t leave you anything.” Hermione took a forkful of cake. They’d smuggled second helpings of dessert up to Ron’s room and had _muffliato_ -ed the door for extra privacy.

It had been a snitch cake. Scrimgeour had raised his eyebrows and asked if there was a reason behind that. Hermione said it was because Harry was a brilliant seeker.

Was he a brilliant seeker? If he wasn’t the Chosen One, would that be what he was known for? Then he’d be the Gryffindor seeker dating the Slytherin seeker. That made it seem almost romantic.

“Yes, I’m so jealous that Dumbledore left you a book of children’s stories, and a snitch.” He paused. “At least the Delluminator is one of a kind.”

“Thanks.” Ron was still staring at it, thumbing the switch. “Why do you think he left it to _me_ , though? Harry?”

“Do you think if I didn’t have to kill Voldemort, I’d be good enough for professional Quidditch?” He was still rolling the snitch over in his fingers. It fluttered its wings gently, as though it remembered him and was glad to see him.

“What?” That was Hermione, staring at him as though he’d gone mad.

“Have you ever thought about it? Jobs? After Hogwarts?”

“I can’t think past this bleeding wedding at the moment,” Ron muttered. “If it doesn’t all go according to plan then I think Mum’s going to make us all move down the country in shame.”

“I told McGonagall I wanted to be an auror, but I don’t think so anymore. I feel like one now, and I feel like death.”

“You won’t have to work.” Draco leant against his shoulder. “My father will die in the war, and we’ll live in Malfoy Manor, inheriting his fortune. I’ll replace him at the Ministry, and you can be a good house husband. Keep my mother company.”

Harry snorted.

“These _are_ strange gifts though.” Hermione was running a finger over the runes on the front of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. “Especially as we won’t be the ones hunting Horcruxes.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” Harry said. “When have any of our plans ever worked out the way it should?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Everything always went wrong because we tried to get involved. This time, we’ll let the adults do it. We’ll give the Deluminator, the book and the snitch over to the Order.”

“Well, hang on.” Ron held the Deluminator protectively. “Dumbledore left them to _us_ , not the Order. And we are all adults now, technically.”

“Well he couldn’t very well leave them to members of the Order. That would be way too suspicious. He would have wanted us to pass them on for him. Maybe they’ll know what ‘I open at the close’ means.”

“I don’t know, Hermione.” Harry kept turning the snitch over, his mind whirring. “He’s always kind of left us to it, hasn’t he? There were a lot of things he could have told the Order last year.”

“Everyone was very busy with other things last year,” Hermione said desperately.

“Before that, then. He knew everything that we did – with Sirius and Buckbeak-“

“It wasn’t like he could release a wizard who everyone thought was a mass murderer.”

“With the Chamber of Secrets. How could twelve-year olds figure out it was a Basilisk but not the _headteacher_?”

“I’m sure he did. I’m sure he was thinking of a way to defeat it.”

“His way of defeating it was to let a twelve year old go down there – and send Fawkes with –”

Hermione and Ron stared at him with wide eyes. On his shoulder, Draco sighed.

“The sword of Gryffindor,” Ron said. “You don’t think – Dumbledore couldn’t have planned all of that – could he?”

“This is ridiculous. Harry, I thought you _liked_ Dumbledore. Why are you acting like – like he’s some puppet master lurking in the shadows?”

Harry paused. He had to admit, his chest ached when he thought about it. When he wondered why Dumbledore couldn’t have stopped Hagrid getting fired in their second year, if he knew that it wasn’t him opening the chamber? Why had he let Harry take part in the Triwizard Tournament, knowing it was all a ploy? There were a lot of things he was starting to realise that didn’t match up with the kind man that he remembered. The man with twinkling blue eyes and crescent moon glasses.

“He just didn’t tell us what we needed to know. Ever.”

“He was trying to protect us. Everyone was trying to protect us.” Hermione’s voice was soft. “Just like they are now.”

“No one’s done a very good job so far.”

They sat in silence, thinking that over.

“We’ll carry them with us. Just in case,” Harry decided. He slipped the snitch into the moleskin pouch Hagrid had gotten him for his birthday. Nothing had ever gone to plan before.

So why should tomorrow be any different?

*

The wedding finally dawned, and Harry found himself on edge throughout the ceremony. It was ridiculous – it wasn’t as though Voldemort was going to come crashing through the doors. Death Eaters weren’t going to burst in on some normal, ordinary wedding. But it had felt like years since Harry had to worry about death and dying, and he was out of practice with being back in England.

It didn't help that he hadn't used Polyjuice potion in the end, after all. Fred and George had gone to the trouble of getting a ginger Muggle boy from the nearby village's hair, but Draco had scoffed.

"Give me ten minutes. He'll be unrecognisable."

Which had made Hermione roll her eyes.

Harry had half expected a punch to the jaw. Or a stinging curse that would make his face swell up. Which was unfair of him, really, but there was still a tiny part of him that expected Draco to be how he used to be.

Draco pilfered Hermione's Sleakeezy’s hair potion, smoothing the tangles and wave out of Harry's hair so that it sat away from his face - revealing inches of forehead and jaw that he didn't know he had. He wasn't huge on the hairdo - it reminded him of something from Grease - but Draco looked pleased with himself and said it suited Harry, so he stayed quiet. With a mixture of Ginny's make-up and spells, they managed to conceal the scar.

And with another spell, he had the equivalent of wizard contacts. Apparently, there was a spell for everything.

The result was surprising - Harry felt strange looking at himself in the mirror. If he didn't know it was him, he wouldn't have recognised himself. The glasses and scar were gone. Those were the two things that were a staple of his appearance. Now -

He wasn't Harry Potter.

Everyone had agreed - no one would recognise Harry like this, and if anyone asked, he was still in Paris. But he still felt vulnerable.

The ceremony passed. No Death Eaters burst in. Barely anyone looked twice at them.

And then there was the party. The chairs were rearranged with a wave of a wand, organising themselves into tables and creating a floor in the middle of the room. Champagne was passed around from somewhere and everyone was cheering, holding the glasses up in a toast.

Bill and Fleur kissed - and everyone cheered again.

They were mostly hidden at the back. Harry leant across to Draco, aiming to kiss him on the cheek because this had made him start to think about the future. They couldn’t get married officially, but they could still have a small ceremony – they could still decide to spend their lives with each other and suddenly that seemed like a wonderful idea. The most romantic idea in the world.

But then there was a sudden huff, and he found himself veering away.

Ron's Auntie Muriel was glaring at them.

Draco noticed too. He twined their hands together. "Leave it."

He pushed them through the crowd of guests. No one was looking twice at Harry.

No one but Luna Lovegood, who barely glanced at them when they sat down at the table next to her, but still said, “hello Draco, hello Harry.”

He glanced at Draco, to see how he would respond, but Draco was smiling. Not a smirk – a rare, genuine smile.

“Luna. Hi.”

“Daddy’s just giving them our wedding present,” she explained. “I heard you took a holiday.”

“Something like that.” Draco waved a hand. It looked silvery in the golden light of the dancefloor. Draco looked _good_ – better than he had in months. He’d spent the majority of their sixth year looking inches away from death, but now the bags under his eyes were gone. His skin was back to looking like ivory and his hair had that blonde shine back. The black dress robes set the whole thing off nicely.

And for once, Harry didn’t feel out of place sat next to him. He felt just as suave – just as ‘I just stepped off the set of a James Bond film’ as Draco looked.

He’d zoned out of the conversation. By the time he tuned back in, he heard Luna saying, “you should be careful in Paris. Daddy once saw a circus that were mistreating a Zouwu. Apparently it went on a rampage soon after. Good for it, I think.”

Ron and Hermione had joined them – for some reason Ron had insisted on stumbling through the first dance with her. Hermione’s cheeks were flushed, and she was grinning.

“A _Zouwu_?” Ron repeated. “That’s not a real thing.”

“It _is_ a real thing, Ronald, and you would know that if you ever paid attention in Care of Magical Creatures.”

“I was paying attention. On not being eaten by whatever it was Hagrid wanted to show us. Probably best I’ve never heard of the bleeding thing.” Ron sat, heavily, and helped himself to a floating tray of butterbeer. “Where’s Nott, anyway? I sent him an invitation.”

“Anyone would think it was your wedding.” Hermione shook her head. Her smile had disappeared now. “Why would Nott want to come to your brother’s wedding?”

Ron’s ears went crimson. “Well – because – we’re mates, and it’s a laugh, isn’t it?”

“Nott’s in hiding,” Draco said. His hand found Harry’s; traced his fingers over his palm absently. “Think he’s gone to America. “It’s not a good time to be a half-blood in the Slytherin Common Room.”

There was a moment, where they let that sit.

Then Hermione shook her head again – her curls were already coming down from their updo. “What _is_ it with Slytherins and half-bloods?”

“Fear,” Draco replied, and at the incredulous look, added. “I’m serious. Purebloods are dying out and there’s something very scary about being one of the last of your kind.”

“It shouldn’t matter who your parents are,” Hermione insisted.

“You’re proud of your heritage. I’m proud of mine.”

“ _Oh_!” Luna exclaimed, suddenly. “I love this song!”

It was mainly couples dancing to it, slowly and tenderly, but Luna stood and stepped onto the floor by herself. She began waving her arms in the air, as though she was mimicking a piece of seaweed.

“Never a dull moment with her, is there?” Ron asked.

“Which reminds me.” Draco’s grip tightened on Harry’s hands. He stood, trying to pull him up. “ _Someone_ owes me a slow dance.”

“Oh, no.” Harry stayed sitting. Even with Draco being a werewolf, Harry was stronger.

“Oh, yes. We made a deal.”

"I'll only step on your feet." Harry's endurance was flagging. He could feel himself being pulled up and out of his seat.

"Couldn't be any worse than Slughorn's Christmas party." Draco's voice was cheerful, his grey eyes glittering.

Harry sighed, heavily, just as Draco gave him one last tug. He stood, throwing an agonised face over his shoulder to Ron –

Who was just suggesting that he and Hermione dance together. Again.

And for a moment, the world made no sense at all, until he spotted Viktor Krum also approaching their table.

Draco pulled him through the crowd and as much as he didn’t want to _dance_ , he wanted some time as just the two of them. He had a horrible feeling about the whole thing. It was the kind of feeling he got at the beginning of term, when he knew that something big was about to kick off. Maybe it was just paranoia at this point. He hoped it was.

But he had the terrible feeling that there would not be much time for dancing soon.

Harry slipped an arm around Draco’s shoulder, taking his hand and leaning against him as Draco took his waist.

There wasn’t really room on the dancefloor for anything more than turning and swaying to the music, which he could handle. Harry let himself by carried away on that for a moment – the laughter and the (literal) fairy lights and the way Draco looked in those dress robes. The fact this his skin was shining like moonlight and he looked more like one of Fleur’s Veela cousins than a Malfoy.

But then he spotted Sirius and Lupin. Sat in a dark corner, keeping to themselves and drinking fire whiskey. Sirius had taken Polyjuice potion, so no one could recognise him. He smiled when he spotted them, but there was a crease between his eyebrows.

Tonks was near them – they had turned up at the house after Harry with bright blue hair and features altered just enough that they didn’t look so feminine any more. That was when they had said to use ‘they’ – that they had decided to embrace the freedom of being a metamorphmagus.

And Tonks had smiled at Lupin and said, “sorry for – not understanding, but thank you for all of your advice.”

Lupin had smiled, and hugged them. “Staying up late is worth helping you find yourself.”

Harry realised that he had missed a lot.

“We made everyone worry,” Harry said.

“And how much better do you feel?” Draco shrugged under his hand. “I can see it - you look so much more –”

“I don’t look like myself right now.” He felt like a hollywood-ised Harry. No glasses, no bushy hair – transformed into a film hero.

Draco shook his head. “You look alive, Potter. In a way you never were last year.”

“Look who's talking.” Harry tilted his head towards Draco, softening his tone.

“We needed a break. If it upset people –”

“Are you saying you didn't feel the slightest bit guilty when you saw Lupin?”

Draco paused then. Looked down at their clasped hands for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was a low murmur. “We were sensible. We weren't found.”

“Hestia Jones died.”

“It's a war.” Draco’s voice hardened again. “People die every day.”

Yes. People were dying every day. Whilst Harry had sat back in Paris and ran away from it all. People were dying for _Harry_ every day. For him.

And yet, if he hadn’t have ran, he wouldn’t have kept Draco.

Which just made it all the more selfish.

“How can you think of running from this?” he asked.

Draco’s lips were pressed together so tightly, they were almost white.

“Can we just dance?” He asked. His voice trembled at the end, it sounded like it was with anger. “Before everything goes to shit again, can we just dance?”

So Harry shut his mouth.

And they danced.

When they song ended, Harry stayed on the dance floor with Draco for another one. To make it up to him. As the music faded away, he noticed Ginny and Luna standing on the edge of the dancefloor. They both looked pale, nervous and awkward.

But when he narrowed his eyes, he could see that their hands were clasped, buried in their dresses. Ginny caught him looking, and gave a small shrug.

Last year they had been fighting about whether to come out or not. He guessed this meant not, and that Ginny was alright with that. He’d have to find her later – talk to her about it properly –

His attention wavered as he noticed the person sat behind the two girls. The person he had been reading about in the _Daily Prophet._

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand. “I need to talk to him.”

Draco turned. He pulled a face. “ _Him_?”

“It’s important.” Harry pulled Draco through the crowd. “It’s about Dumbledore.”

“Of course it is.”

Harry stopped. Leant closer to Draco. “Elphias Doge wrote Dumbledore’s obituary. He knows him better than anyone. I have to – I have to know…” that he wasn’t a bad man. That he wasn’t lying and manipulative. That he was a great wizard.

Draco hardly looked happy about it, but his lips twitched. “Okay, trouble.”

And yet Harry wavered at the table, trying to find his words. Eventually, they came out in a mouse-like squeak, “excuse me – Mr Doge? May we sit down?”

The little man nodded, and smiled. He looked so much like a stereotypical grandfather that Harry felt his heart squeeze. But he turned back to watching the dancing a moment later, and that’s when Harry realised he hadn’t been recognised.

“Sir, it’s – I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

“Oh, dear boy!” The old man’s face lit up. “Of course, of course! Arthur said you’d be here – in disguise, of course.”

“Of course,” Draco murmured, next to Harry. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

“And this must be your…friend – a pleasure to meet you!”

Draco raised his eyebrows, but shook the man’s hand. They were used to the emphasis people put on ‘friend,’ now. The slight disproval or over-eager approval – Harry wasn’t sure which made him feel more awkward.

“Never believed a word of what the prophet was saying about you, of course! Not a word – all lies and slander! They used to do the same thing to Dumbledore, you know.”

That rung a bell. Harry frowned, trying to remember.

“Dumbledore and Grindlewald?” he asked.

Doge shook his head vigorously, jowls quivering. “All lies – lies made up to drag his name through the mud.”

Draco and Harry exchanged a look, and Draco rolled his eyes. As if to say that wasn’t what people should have been worrying about with Dumbledore.

“Nasty business that – with Grindlewald. And I see _some_ people aren’t being very courteous about it.” Doge looked to the dancefloor and shook his head again. “At a time like this – ridiculous.”

Harry followed his gaze to see Luna’s father. He was hard to miss in those bright yellow robes, but it was clear Doge meant the necklace. A triangle, with an eye in the middle.

“That’s – Mr Lovegood,” Harry explained. “He probably means no harm.”

“Potter – Harry, wanted to ask you about the obituary you wrote.” Draco leant across the table, turning on the charming smile and soft voice. The posh boy Draco, Harry had always thought of it.

“It was really –” Harry struggled for a word. ‘Nice’ wasn’t going to cut it. “You must have known him very well.”

“Oh, as well as anyone.” Doge smiled, his eyes distant. “But he was always mysterious, even to his friends.”

Well, Harry knew a thing or two about that.

“And you must have seen the interview that Rita Skeeter made in the prophet?” he pressed. “About – about Dumbledore being involved with dark magic?”

“Nonsense. Stuff. And. Nonsense, my boy! Don’t believe it, let nothing tarnish your memory of that man!”

His memories were already tarnished. He wanted to polish them up – to know, without a doubt, that how he felt when he was eleven was the right way of feeling. Staring into Doge’s round, red, earnest face, he’d never wanted it more.

But it simply wasn’t that easy. 

The rumours of dark magic and the rumours of Dumbledore’s friendship with Grindlewald were starting to add up, and he didn’t like the answer.

Doge must have seen something on his face, because he leant forward, face growing redder than ever.

“Harry, Rita Skeeter is the most vile –”

“Rita Skeeter?” There was a screech. And Harry looked up to find his stomach sinking to the floor at the sight of Ron’s Auntie Muriel. The feathers in her hat swayed, giving her the appearance, and sound, of a brightly coloured parrot. “Fantastic woman! I love her – she’s just written a book about Dumbledore, you know!”

She shooed a nearby Weasley off of their chair and sat in it with a concerning amount of energy for a one-hundred-and-seven-year-old woman. She peered at Harry and Draco, eyes narrowing.

“And who are you? You’re no Weasley.”

Harry panicked. He said the first name that came to his mind. “I’m Nott. Uh, Theodore Nott. We’re – we’re friends of Ron’s, from Hogwarts.”

Draco made a strange sound as he swallowed a glass of champagne. He covered his mouth with his fist for several moments, his lips twisting. Harry took deep breaths.

Muriel wasn’t looking at him. “And what do you think of all this new headmaster business? New teachers too – proper purebloods, now.”

“Professor Snape’s taught me…a lot of things,” Harry said, honestly. He smiled as he said it, because he had to allow himself that.

Draco’s hand found Harry’s thigh and squeezed it under the table. He was choking on his champagne again, and it was hard not to burst out laughing.

Muriel kept peering at him for a moment, then turned back to Doge. “I noticed you skipped over all the sticky parts in that obituary of yours.”

Doge was radish coloured. He sipped his champagne, and said quietly, “I was speaking from the heart.”

“Oh yes. Daresay you’ll still worship the ground Dumbledore walked on even when it comes out he killed his squib sister.”

Draco’s hand froze.

“I thought his sister was ill,” Harry said, numbly.

“Thought wrong then, didn’t you? And those of us who were alive – you weren’t, mind you – we all know the truth. And it will come out – Rita’s unearthed it all again. Just like those gossip pieces about Harry Potter and his…relations. So much for the chosen one, eh, Ephias?”

“Untrue!” wheezed Doge. “Every word that woman says is untrue.”

Harry wasn’t about to say that his and Draco’s relationship might have been the one thing he’d said in front of Rita Skeeter that she hadn’t twisted around.

“Dumbledore never mentioned his sister was a squib.” He looked to Draco, who was staring resolutely at the tablecloth.

“Why would he mention it to some wet-around-the-ears-students?” Muriel was screeching, and Harry was reminded, again, of a large, loud bird.

“Dumbledore was devastated by her death.” Dodge had gone quiet again, but it only made Muriel louder. They kept talking about her – about Arabella Dumbledore. And the more he heard, the more Harry’s blood chilled.

Locked in the cellar. He remembered the cupboard under the stairs. He’d thought of it often, last summer. In a strange way, he missed his own little space. Missed how he’d found comfort in himself and his chest set – making up quests for the knights to go on. It hadn’t been all that nice, but at least it hadn’t been _this._

He’d been locked up because of his magic.

And now Muriel was saying that Arabella was locked up because she had none.

It didn’t sound like Dumbledore. Dumbledore was a lot of things, but he wasn’t cruel. That was the one thing Harry knew for certain.

The two discussed her funeral – the fight. That Dumbledore had not fought back and that made sense, to Harry.

“He would have blamed himself,” he said, quietly. When Doge nodded empathetically, he cleared his throat, and continued. “He would have blamed himself, whether or not he had anything to do with it. And Aberforth needed someone to be angry at.”

“And _what_ ,” Muriel paused, feathers swaying. Her lipstick had leaked into the wrinkles around her mouth. “Would _you_ know?”

Doge was gaining confidence from Harry’s words. “And how would _you_ know anything that happened at that funeral, Muriel?”

She leant back. Smiled to herself triumphantly. “Bathilda Bagshot. My mother – very friendly with Bathilda, she was…I reckon that’s were Rita got all her information from.”

“Bathilda would never!”

They kept arguing. And Harry kept thinking. That Dumbledore’s behaviour matched up – not the locking up his sister part, but that seemed hardly proven. It seemed like his mother, or his father, had been in charge of that.

None of this was making him feel any better.

And he felt even worse when he heard the words, “Godric’s Hollow.”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Oh, do keep up boy – Bathilda lives down in Godric’s Hollow – an old neighbour of the Dumbledores.”

Time should have frozen. Everyone should have stopped for a moment and let him recover from that. It felt as though he’d been stabbed. Or jinxed. Or body-bound.

Dumbledore had lived in Godric’s Hollow.

The same place his parents had.

Was his sister buried near them?

Why had he never said?

“Are you alright, Nott?” Draco’s voice cut through the static in his mind.

He turned to him and wet his lips. Willed the words to come out of them. “My parents lived in Godric’s Hollow.”

“Oh, bully for your parents, boy.” Muriel sniffed.

He turned on her. Feeling some of that red-hot rage from his fifth year at Hogwarts return. “My parents are dead.”

She, at least, paused at that. Blinked at him as she swayed slightly, another champagne glass in her hand.

“Well…” she said. “Well!”

“Come on, Ha – Theo. Let’s – get some air.” Draco clapped a hand on his shoulder, and stood.

Harry followed suit, feeling as though he had pins and needles all over his body. It was important – this was important. That him and Dumbledore had lived in the same place – lost family in the same place, and yet had never shared that. Had never visited.

He’d been dragged to a cave in the middle of bloody nowhere and made to force feed the man a torture potion, but he had not been taken to his parents’ grave.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr Doge.” Draco shook the man’s hand again. “We’re sorry for your loss. Right – Theo?”

“Ah.” Harry blinked. Remembered that Theo was meant to be him. “Yes. Really.”

“I wish you all the best my boy.” Doge squeezed his hand as he shook it. “All the best.”

Harry nodded. And followed Draco through the crowd. He heard snatches of conversation – and stopped when he heard something about rackspurts.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked Ginny. “About Hogwarts, I mean?”

Ginny shrugged. She glanced at Luna.

“Well, it won’t be a walk in the park, but…what you taught us, Harry, in the DA, was a lot more than spells.” She bit her lip for a moment. “We know how to rebel.”

“Without getting caught.” Luna smiled too. And the revolving lights cast patterns over her skin – making her look like some sort of fairy instead of a girl.

“And what did you…” Harry cleared his throat, looking at their hands. “Decide?”

Ginny laughed. A proper, joyful laugh. Then she wrapped her free arm around Harry’s shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Love is the only thing that will get us through this,” she whispered.

And then Luna was dragging her away to dance, and Draco was pulling him through the crowd. He heard Krum talking about a wandmaker, Gregorovitch.

And then Hermione appeared. She flopped down in an empty chair near them, and Draco guided Harry over to it. He sat, feeling as though his legs were shaking.

“My feet are killing me,” Hermione said. “Honestly, it’s very sweet of Ron to dance with me when I know that he must hate it, but – really – he –” She must have seen Harry’s ashen face because she frowned and put her hand on his other shoulder. “Are you alright, Harry?”

He opened his mouth, and he had no idea what was about to come out of it.

Then they were interrupted.

A silvery light danced over the crowd and to the middle of the dance floor. The longer he looked at it, the clearer the shape became. A lynx.

A patronus.

People cleared the way for it, the music dying down as it landed in the middle of the dance floor. It opened its mouth and spoke with Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice.

“The ministry has fallen. Scimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. There were people still turning to the patronus even as it begun to fade away. Everyone stared at the empty spot on the dancefloor.

Then someone screamed.

And all hell broke lose.

Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand so tightly he thought the bones might pop. But then, he was probably holding Draco’s with the same death-grip.

Noise blared at him from all sides – spells flying and people yelling. Everyone pushed against each other so that Harry felt like a squashed sardine. He only knew that he was connected to Hermione and Draco. The lights were flickering and dancing wildly – spells working like strobe lights and adding a smell of burning to the air.

The tent was blowing up and down wildly, as though it was trying to grow legs and escape. It meant that cold night air attacked their heads, whilst the rest of them were trapped in the sweaty, messy huddle of the crowd.

Hermione was yelling for “Ron! Ron! Where the hell is Ron?!”

Draco was the one who found him. Grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him backwards – into the safety of their huddle.

And then he felt Hermione turning, felt his ears pop with the tell-tale sign that they were apparating.

The next moment he was stood in the middle of London.

And all he could think was that he knew that something was going to go wrong at that wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): SO I made a mistake in the last chapter and killed of Ephias Doge. I'm going to go back and change it to Hestia Jones instead. Sorry for the confusion - it was originally someone else but I've changed the events of this fic a lot to get things happening in a certain order.  
> I'm also sorry if making Tonks non-binary felt thrown in. I did really want to include it in light of recent twitter events but I kind of shafted Tonks/Lupin in Still Ill because the adult world wasn't really the focus in that. There's honestly a whole story I could write in tandem of Tonks falling in love with Lupin, coming to terms with his relationship with Sirius, and then finding their own identity without feeling that another person was crucial to their happiness. But aside from having Lupin report this back to Harry, which would have felt awkward and forced and exposition-y, I couldn't think of a way to do it. Really the seeds for that would have to be sown in Hand in Glove and Still Ill. So I did what I thought was more realistic to an outsider hearing. I really love the idea of a nb Tonks.  
> I think that was my only real note for the chapter. Thank you for all of the support so far - and comments/kudos/bookmarks - it really is appreciated and is why I share my work!  
> I'll see you all next week xx


	3. 3

3

The night air was cold for Summer, especially after the stifling heat of the tent.

A part of Harry wondered, if he was a normal teenager, then getting changed in an alleyway in London might be a standard night out. He’d been thinking about that a lot recently. About being normal. Going to a normal secondary school and learning English, maths and science. Meeting normal people.

Not having to worry about killing a man. Or fearing for his life.

“Ah, this is Potter’s,” Draco murmured. He was pulling an oversized t-shirt on, which messed up his oh-so-perfectly-styled hair.

“Well I got it out of your case.” Hermione pulled a jacket on over her dress.

“Yeah, I packed those,” Harry said. The spell Draco had cast had worn off now, and he fetched his glasses from the moleskin pouch, slipping them on. “Didn’t think it mattered which one my clothes went in.”

“Oh, _Harry_.”

“I didn’t think you’d be going down our cases, Hermione.”

“I was just being prepared.” Hermione tied her hair back into a ponytail.

“It’s fine.” Draco smirked. “Harry’s clothes are _my_ clothes.”

“I didn’t think you two could get more sickly.”

“Oh, there’s always room for improvement.”

“I’m sorry.” Ron’s face was white as he stared between the three of them. “Was I the only one that just apparated away from a wedding because it was invaded by Death Eaters?”

It wiped the smile off of Harry’s face. Left him feeling cold, again. The fear crept back into his stomach.

“Fuck. Everyone –”

“Your invisibility cloak.” Hermione handed it over.

Harry took it, numbly. “Sirius and Lupin –”

“We can’t worry about that now. You’re the one they’re after,” Hermione said. “Are you all done? Because we should get moving.”

They filed out of the alley, Harry pressed against Draco to avoid anyone charging into him. And because his heart was ready to race out of his chest like a horse at the Grand National. They’d left everyone there. In danger. Again.

“It’s unnerving how you can watch three men get changed in an alley and be annoyed they’re taking too long,” Draco said.

“Oh, please, two of you are gay.”

“I’m bisexual, actually,” Harry said.

A handful of people turned around, confused at where the voice was coming from. They pressed onwards.

“Why Tottenham Court Road?” Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. A group of men were wolf-whistling on the other side of the street and she was pale.

“It was all I could think of. It’s better to be as far away from the Wizarding World as possible.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ron said. “We have the invisibility cloak, the Leaky Cauldron’s not far. It would be helpful to know what exactly is going on.”

One of the men on the other side of the street yelled something at Hermione, and Ron stepped forward, his cheeks and ears red. She caught him by the chest and said, quickly, “let’s find somewhere to sit down.”

There was a takeaway not too far down the road. It had a couple of drunk students, all clamouring for cheesey chips.

If Harry was normal, that would be him. His mouth was watering as he stared at the golden chips, though he’d eaten plenty at the wedding. He’d never been properly drunk – never known the bottomless hunger that came from it.

“I’ll get us some to share, shall I?” Ron asked.

Neither Draco or Hermione acknowledged him, but Harry nudged Ron’s shoulder several times to show his assent. So, he joined the queue anyway. There were a few tables at the back, and Harry slipped into the booth next to Draco. Hermione sat opposite them, tapping her heel on the floor and biting her lip.

“We can’t go back, we’d be putting everyone in danger,” she said. “Other people can get into Grimmauld Place, can’t they? Bellatrix and – and –”

“Any member of the Black family,” Draco said. He pushed his hair from his forehead, already losing some of that glow he had at the wedding.

They sat in silence until Ron came back with the chips. He offered them around – and only Harry took one.

“Merlin’s beard, Harry, we’re not meant to be drawing attention to ourselves,” Hermione said.

“Look who sounds just like a wizard,” Draco muttered.

“Could you stop? For five minutes?” Hermione snapped. “Whilst we – whilst we think of a plan.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ron said. “We find these horcruxes and start destroying them.”

“Easier said than done.” Hermione sighed. “We don’t know where any of them are.”

“Well, there are seven, right? And Harry got one in second year. The ring was another. So that leaves five left.” Ron kept ploughing through the chips. “The locket’s a dead end, as far as I can tell, so that leaves four to find. We know that you-know-who was hiding them in places that he went, and he liked….”

“Hogwarts,” Draco said. “He spent eight years there.”

“He already left one at Hogwarts,” Harry said.

“That leaves four others that could be there.”

“One was the locket,” Harry said. “He left that in a cave near a beach he visited in primary school. I don’t remember anywhere I went in primary school apart from the London zoo and that's only because I set a python on my cousin.”

“Did it kill him?” Draco asked. His eyes glittered.

“No, it didn't kill him!”

“Shame.” Draco shook his head. He eyed the chips, then seemed to think better of it.

But something had clicked in Harry’s mind. Brought that gnawing, freezing-cold fear back to his stomach.

“The Dursleys,” he said. “They're in danger.”

All three of them blinked at him.

“Harry.” Hermione frowned. “I don’t think that Privet Drive-“

“I’m meant to be protected there.”

“Until your seventeenth birthday.”

“Grimmauld Place, then.”

“It could already be compromised.”

Harry sighed, and leant against the table. He thought about Privet Drive. Neat, tidy, Privet Drive. And all the years he had spent there. He couldn’t say he loved it there – couldn’t say he enjoyed a lot of it.

But the Dursley’s shouldn’t have to die for that. Maybe he didn’t wish them brilliant futures, but he couldn’t leave them at Voldemort’s mercy.

“We should still make sure that the Dursley’s are alright. Voldemort’s going to target them, sooner or later.”

“I think bringing the three of us there will only ensure their deaths, babe,” Draco said.

The bell over the door rang. Two men came in, ignored the workers behind the counter, and sat in the booth across from them.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Well, I certainly have issues to raise with the people who made you live in a cupboard.”

“Draco’s right,” Ron said. “They certainly deserve more than a ton-tongue toffee.”

Draco nodded at Ron. “Nice.”

He smiled, though his face was still ashen and there was soot on his nose. “I think it’s best we take our chance with Grimmauld Place. At least for the night. The Order’s put down protective measures against unfriendly visitors, and it’s the first place they’ll look for us.”

“That’s true,” Harry said.

“And tomorrow we can go to the bloomin’ Dursleys.” Ron nodded at Hermione. “You got the change to pay?”

“It’s in here somewhere.” Hermione reached for her bag.

And as she did, the men at the opposite table reached into their pockets.

Harry mirrored the action without thinking, because Draco was as well.

In the next moment, their wands were out and so were the men’s opposite.

Ron pushed Hermione out of the booth and onto the floor.

“ _Stupefy!”_ Draco cast a second before Harry yelled, “ _Protego!_ ”

Two jets of light were already shooting towards them.

Both spells bounced off of Harry's shield, richocheting off the tiled walls and hitting one of the men behind the till. The other hit one of their attackers, knocking him to the ground with a crash.

One of them – a huge, blonde man – was firing at mid-air, confused as to where Harry’s spell had come from.

He cast wildly, so that spells bounded off of the wall. The other two workers were staring at the commotion with shock and horror, as the tiles above Harry’s head shattered into dust.

A spell hit one of the workers, another shattered one of the glass lampshades.

Hermione had recovered – she pulled out her wand and cried, “ _petrificus totalus!_ ”

In the next instant, the blonde man had fallen to the floor, completely stuck.

They were left staring at the final worker behind the bar. They stared back.

Then Draco swiped his wand through the air, “ _stupefy_.”

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak off, and helped himself to a few more of Ron’s chips, even though they were lukewarm now. “We need to turn off the lights and lock the doors.”

Hermione didn’t have to move – pointing her wand towards the door and locking it. Harry pulled the delluminator out of the moleskin pouch Hagrid gave him, ready to press the button.

Ron – hair almost white, it was covered in so much plaster – snatched it from him. “Dumbledore gave that to _me_.”

The lights were out in the next moment. They heard several groans from outside, and saw the shadows of passing students.

There were amber patches of light from the streetlights outside, and they could still see as they made their way out of the booth. A dustbin rattled across the floor, and the rest of the restaurant wasn’t faring much better.

“That’s Dolohov,” Ron peered over the blonde Death Eater. His eyes moved rapidly between them all. “I recognise him from the Wanted Posters.”

“I recognise him from my father’s dinner parties,” Draco said.

“Alright, show off.” Ron nodded to the other one. “And that’s Thorfinn Rolf, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded. The shadows were dark on his pale face.

“So what are we going to do with them?” Ron continued. They were all stood, hands on their hips, considering the two men before them, whilst students screeched outside, enjoying their nights out.

“Don’t you dare suggest killing them, Draco,” Hermione snapped.

“It’s only what they would have done to us,” he replied.

“He’s got a point,” Ron said.

Hermione scowled. “When did the two of you get so buddy-buddy, anyway?”

“We should erase their memories,” Harry cut over the bickering. “If they go missing, people will notice. It’s the safest thing to do.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Draco caught Harry’s eye and smirked.

He wondered if it was an appropriate moment to kiss him.

“Have you ever done a memory charm?” Ron asked. “Because I haven’t.”

“I know the theory.” Hermione stepped forward, and cast obliviate.

Immediately, the blond man’s eyes were unfocused and his face slack.

Hermione nodded triumphantly. Ron clapped her on the shoulder, probably a little too hard and said, “bloody brilliant!”

“Right, you deal with the rest of the workers,” Harry said. “We’ll clear this place up.”

It took longer to drag the bodies into the right positions rather than casting cleaning charms to repair the damage. Harry was still covered in chipped glass and plaster. There were small cuts on his hands and face that stung.

Eventually, they hauled the Death Eaters into a booth, and sat them opposite each other. They left the workers slumped in the backroom, then slipped out through the fire exit.

“What now?” Ron asked. They were in a dark, narrow alley that stank of urine and cannabis.

“We need to go somewhere safe,” Hermione said, stepping neatly around the rubbish littered on the floor. “The Order will be waiting at Grimmauld Place. We should go there.”

“Are you sure?” Harry murmured. He was talking mainly to himself. “If we go back there, the Order won’t be letting us leave in a hurry.”

“Exactly. It’s the safest place for us –”

“The Dursley’s are in the most danger they’ve ever been,” Harry cut across her. “And no one in the Order will go to help them.”

“And for good reason,” Draco added.

“We can’t let them be tortured or killed for me.” Harry stared at Hermione. Of everyone here, she was the one he’d be able to convince. “They may not be the best people, but they’re completely innocent in all of this.”

“I suppose it will be one last adventure before we’re locked up until the war is over,” Ron said. “We can go back to Grimmauld Place after.”

Hermione shook her head. “Everyone will be worried sick.”

“Can’t you send one of those patronus things?” Harry asked.

“Hold on. Stop.” Draco halted at the alleyway entrance. He crossed his arms. “We still don’t know how those Death Eaters found us. If there are any still coming, or still following us, then we need to know how.”

“None of us should have the Trace left on us.” Ron frowned. “Unless they found a way to put the trace on a seventeen-year-old.”

“Impossible,” Hermione said.

They stood there, shivering slightly in the night air and wracking their brains.

“If the Dark Lord has control of the ministry, they could be tracking apparations,” Draco eventually said.

“And since we haven’t been attacked in the last five minutes,” Ron added. “If they were tracking magic use, surely more of them would have shown up by now.”

“Okay, so we can’t apparate,” Harry said. “Let’s find a cheap place to sleep tonight, then get the train down to Little Whinging in the morning. By the afternoon, we’ll be back at Grimmauld Place, safe and sound.”

“It’s too dangerous.” Hermione insisted. “We could just get the Knight Bus to Grimmauld Place from here.”

“Stan Shunpike was arrested for suspicion of being a Death Eater.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “And it’ll be packed with wizards. As much as I hate to say it, Potter’s right. A muggle hotel and muggle transport to a muggle house is our best option right now. It’ll be safer tomorrow afternoon, when all of this panic has died down.”

Hermione looked to Ron helplessly, but he avoided her eye and mumbled some kind of agreement.

So that was how Harry found himself using the invisibility cloak to pop open the window of two hotel rooms in the early hours of the morning. His watch told him it was two, though it felt much later.

Harry and Draco shared one room, whilst Hermione and Ron broke into the one next door.

It was a nondescript hotel – white bedsheets, dark wooden furniture, a small t.v that picked up a handful of channels, and paintings of the Thames hung on the walls. Everything was empty, of course, but it made Harry feel like a ghost. They didn’t need to unpack anything. It was like staying in an empty husk.

They were single beds, but they pressed theirs together. Harry had slept next to Draco for so long that it felt strange to be alone. Especially when his heart was still racing – still pumping adrenaline around his body. It was an all too familiar feeling – and one that he didn’t like to find out that he had missed.

Harry had only just kicked off his shoes, when he felt Draco’s arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to the bed.

“I knew something would go wrong,” Harry murmured. He was inches from Draco’s face, and yet it felt like too much of an effort to kiss him.

“Told you so, trouble,” Draco whispered back.

The sheets were scratchy, and the duvet was too hard, but he was asleep within minutes.

*

They woke early and caught the train down to Guildford way. To avoid the cleaners, they’d been out at the crack of dawn – getting three hours sleep. Harry fell asleep on Draco’s shoulder on the train again. Sleeping was easier. Sleeping meant that he didn’t have to worry, or think. He could just drift in confusing nonsense.

Confusing nonsense of walking along moors, wanting to find something, but not knowing what he was looking for.

Well, it beat fighting Death Eater’s and running for his life.

All too soon, Draco was shaking Harry awake. “Hey. Trouble. We need you to tell us how to get to your _cochon_ muggles.”

Harry forced himself back to reality, blinking the harsh daylight streaming through the window. It was another hot Summer’s day, and he could feel sweat on the back of his neck.

They unloaded from the train, and Harry found the right bus to get them to Little Whinging, still feeling as though he was dreaming. He couldn’t believe it. He was going back to the Dursley’s.

What if he got there, and this had all been a huge delusion?

No, Hermione, Ron and Draco were real. All looking pale and tired, but very real.

“You were muttering in your sleep,” Ron said. “The name Gregorovitch.”

“Ah.” The pieces slid together in Harry’s mind. “I think – I think a certain someone-“ he tapped his scar. “Is looking for him.”

“Poor bloke.” Ron shook his head, glumly.

“You shouldn’t be knowing anything the Dark Lord wants.” Draco scowled at him. “You and I should be able to keep him out of your head.”

Harry leant against the window and watched the houses pass.

“Well, it looks like my noble knight let his guard down.” He tried to smirk at Draco, but he only had the energy for a raised eyebrow.

“Funnily enough, I was tired last night.” Draco elbowed Harry, and he chuckled.

“Gregorovitch…I know that name.” Hermione was twisted around in her seat, frowning as she thought. “Oh – I know. Viktor’s wand was made by someone called Gregorovitch.”

“When did he tell you that?” Spots of colour appeared in Ron’s cheeks.

Hermione waved him off. “Oh, ages ago. Don’t worry, you did a very good job of keeping me away from him at the wedding.” She paused. “I do hope he’s okay.”

Harry hoped a lot of people were okay, but he knew that not everyone could be. He kept staring at the houses as they turned a corner. They were all the same. Same streetlights, same houses, same normal people. What if they were just four friends, heading home on a normal day to help Harry move out? Or even four normal students getting ready to go back to Hogwarts?

He wished that he didn’t have to worry about the bus driver turning around and shooting green sparks from his wand.

They finally arrived at Privet Drive. At the end of it, actually, so that they had to walk down the road to get to number four. Harry felt oddly exposed as they did. Ron had seen it before, of course, but that had been at night. Now they could all see the place where he had grown up. It was like they would see all of his memories playing out on the pavement either side of them.

Eventually, they came to the Dursley’s house. It was just the same as he had left it. Same neat bushes, same nice car. Same remnants of the bars on Harry’s window – Uncle Vernon had never quite managed to cover up the damage to the brickwork.

“Are you sure about this, Harry?” Hermione asked. “They might not want visitors.”

He was already walking up the path. His heart was pounding. Racing along as though he would come face to face with Voldemort behind the front door.

The knocker was oddly heavy as he knocked. Three times. Smartly.

Then stepped back.

It took a moment – a long, painful moment – for the door to open.

But then there was Dudley.

He blinked at Harry, then his jaw fell open in shock. He stood, staring as though a ghost had appeared. In some ways, Harry supposed, one had.

“Hello, Dudley.” It was said cheerfully enough, but Dudley just continued gawping at him.

He could hear Draco sniggering behind him, and elbowed him.

“Dudders? Who is it darling?” There was a voice in the hallway behind him, and then Petunia Dursley appeared. She promptly dropped the glass she had been carrying, spilling water everywhere.

“Hello, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said.

She pulled Dudley behind her, glass crunching beneath his trainers. She grasped at him as though she was rescuing him from a particularly vicious and fast-spreading fire.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Charming,” Draco muttered.

Harry elbowed him again. “I wondered if we might have a word?”

“We’ve gotten rid of anything you left behind, if that’s what you’re after,” Petunia continued, sniffing.

“The man who killed my mother is back and we thought you ought to know.”

Petunia continued staring at him for a moment, blinking like an owl.

Then she looked down and murmured, “five minutes,” as she opened the door.

They filed in. Dudley had retreated halfway up the stairs, and was watching them all as if they were going to turn into monsters before his eyes.

Hermione stopped at the smashed glass.

“I can fix that for you,” she said, and before Petunia could object, she waved her wand and the glass was whole again.

Petunia sobbed as Hermione handed it back to her.

“No magic,” Harry muttered, at Hermione’s shocked face.

As they entered the living room, Harry caught sight of himself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. No wonder the Dursley’s had looked shocked. All of them looked as though they’d been dragged through a bush backwards – hair sticking up and rings under their eyes, decorated with small cuts from the fight last night.

Uncle Vernon was sat watching the T.V. Only his piggy eyes looked round to them at first, but he did a double take when he saw who it was.

“We sold anything you left, if that’s what you’re after,” he grunted.

“I’m not after any of it,” Harry replied.

None of them sat, though Hermione and Ron were looking at Harry, as though he would offer. Draco, on the other hand, looked around at the Dursleys, then leant close to Harry’s ear and murmured, “ _tres cochons, mon ange_?”

Harry couldn’t help it, he grinned and had to cover up his laugh with a cough.

Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “What did he say? Was that a spell?”

“It was French.” Draco raised a pale eyebrow. “But I’m more than willing to-“

“No.” Harry elbowed him again. “No, I – we – came to warn you to get out of here.”

“Get out of here?” Vernon echoed.

“He said something about that man – that Voldy-thingy back.” Petunia was in the doorway, wringing her hands.

“Yes.” Harry pointed at the news. “Those accidents their talking about? The derailments and disappearances and fuck knows what else – those aren’t accidents. Those are deliberate attacks.”

Uncle Vernon shook his head, his jowls quivering.

“Wow!” Ron stepped up to the T.V, leaning over it. “Is this – like that’s a real person on the other side, isn’t it?”

“It’s a person in a studio,” Hermione explained. “They transmit the same image to everyone on the same channel.”

“Wicked!” Ron was still staring at it. He turned back to them and grinned, “dad would…he would have loved this.”

His grin disappeared, and he bit his lip instead.

“Well, Weasley, we could always take it with us,” Draco said. Not unkindly. “Put it up near his grave.”

Ron nodded and gave a wobbly smile. “He’d like that.”

“You’re not taking the ruddy television!” Vernon Dursley snapped.

“The television isn’t important,” Harry said. “You’re in danger and you need to leave.”

“Nonsense.” Vernon leant back in his armchair, turning the volume up on the television. It made Ron jump. He approached it slowly, like it was about to turn around and bite him. He poked the side of it gingerly. “This is all just stuff and nonsense to get us out the house, isn’t it? And then as soon as we’re gone you’re going to settle here with all your-” he paused, looking over the four of them. “Freaky little friends.”

Draco scowled, and he reached for his wand.

Harry caught his wrist.

Draco turned to him. “Just one hex.”

“No.”

“Just a jinx. A harmless little jinx.”

“ _No,_ Malfoy.”

“Weren’t you listening to Harry?” Hermione shook her head. A shard of glass fell from her hair. “Your lives are at risk! Don’t you care? Don’t you even know the number of times that Harry could have died this year alone-“

“No, Hermione,” Harry said. “They don’t care.”

“I do.”

Petunia Dursley gave a gasp and moved aside to reveal Dudley standing in the doorway. His eyes were on Harry. If they hadn’t have been, then Harry wouldn’t have believed that the words had actually come from him.

“You saved me from those things,” Dudley continued. “We would have died.”

“The dementors?” Ron asked. “Oh, that’s not the half of it. In first year, this one –” he jabbed a thumb towards Draco. “Made us get up in the middle of the night for a Wizard’s Duel, and we almost got eaten by a three headed dog –”

“I had nothing to do with the three headed dog. That was your own stupidity,” Draco replied.

“And that was only a few weeks into term. Then he ratted on us, and we had to wander through the forbidden forest in the dark. And then we thought Snape was after the philosopher’s stone, and we had to go through all of these trials and I almost died because I bravely sacrificed myself to win a game of giant chess and Harry almost died because one of our teacher’s took the phrase ‘eyes in the back of your head’ too literally. Then in second year there was a ruddy great snake going through the pipes petrifying people, but we thought it was this monster in the forest, which turned out to be a bleeding big spider who tried to eat us –”

“That’s enough, Ron.” Harry thought it was best to cut him off, because Dudley’s jaw had dropped to the ground.

Petunia, on the other hand, was running a hand through Dudley’s blonde hair, crooning and saying “it was ever so good of Dudders to say thank you!”

“He didn’t say thank you, he just said he and Potter would have died.” Draco’s lip curled. “And that’s just a fact.”

“The point is that there’s the equivalent of – of wizard Hitler out there, trying to kill me.” Harry was struggling to remember what the point was. “And the first place he’ll look is here. And if you’re not in a safe place, then you will be tortured and killed, just like my parents.”

He had gotten the Dursley’s attention. Gotten the whole room’s attention. Everyone stared at him, taking in his words. They left a heavy silence behind them.

A bang sounded from the fireplace.

They all jumped – wands out in the next moment. Petunia cried again, and hugged Dudley more tightly towards her. Vernon finally stood from the armchair – half raising his fists as though he was preparing for a boxing match.

“Now this is why it's always a good idea to stick your head in the fireplace _before_ you leap in," a familiar voice said from inside the plaster. Lupin. Harry stared. "I told you that plenty of fireplaces are boarded up these days."

"Oh, shut up, Moony." Obviously, that was Sirius.

"Not again. Not a-bloody-gain." Vernon was shaking his head.

"I'll just apparate us a foot to the left," Sirius continued.

"Watch your hand!"

"Oh, you love it."

Harry tugged Hermione out of the way a moment before there was a great crack, and the wall covering the fireplace burst into plaster, revealing a sooty Sirius and Lupin pressed against each other.

Vernon looked as though he was about to have an aneurysm.

But then, Sirius didn’t look much better.

“ _There_ you are.” His dark eyes glittered, and for perhaps the first time ever, Harry found himself terrified of a parental figure. Sirius’s voice was low, trembling with anger. “What the hell were thinking? Where have you been?”

“T-Tottenham Court Road,” Harry could only stutter out the truth.

“It’s my fault, Sirius – it was the only place I could think of,” Hermione said. “You see, I knew that Harry would be in the most danger and I thought if we could get away from the Wizarding World-“ she gasped suddenly. “We think that the Death Eaters are tracking apparations! We were attacked in a café in London.”

“You were _what_?” Sirius looked ready to explode.

Lupin put a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. It seemed to calm him, somewhat. “You’re safe now, that’s what matters. And the others will be here soon.”

“Others?” Vernon finally found his voice. “What others? How’re you to come barging into my house like this –”

“Oh, so sorry.” Lupin gave the briefest of smiles. “I’m Re –”

“I’m Harry’s Godfather,” Sirius said. He turned that hardened stare onto Vernon. “I believe we’ve met.”

“Yes.” Vernon glowered back, but he swallowed heavily. “The convicted criminal.”

“I’ve already said,” Harry stepped between them. “He was wrongfully accused. It was actually Ron’s rat – he was a man all along.”

The Dursleys stared at Ron, who shrugged and scratched his ear.

“Weirder things have happened in the last year that now it seems normal, to be honest.”

“We were on our way here, anyway.” Lupin tried again, pushing past Sirius and Harry. The living room was becoming very crowded now. “Because it seems likely that you’ll all be targets, since you’ve harboured Harry for such a long time.”

“Harboured?” Vernon echoed, moustache quivering and fists clenched – shaking, at his sides. “Harboured! He was forced upon us! Never wanted two children – never!”

“From what I’ve heard, you never treated Potter as a child, anyway.” Draco was glowering. Sirius was glowering – Harry could understand – this was all rubbing it in his face. He’d have given anything to raise him.

“Sirius and I will explain this,” Lupin said, tactfully. “You could go to Harry’s room, if that’s alright with you?”

This last was addressed to Petunia, who gave a mouse-like squeak and straightened. She stared at them all, as though it was the first time she’d seen them.

“You mean Dudley’s second bedroom? I…as long as it’s kept neat and tidy.”

“Of course.” Hermione flashed a brilliant smile, and shepherded them from the room. They obliged.

Dudley and Petunia moved out of their way, as though they were at risk of being burnt from standing in their general proximity.

As they were heading up the stairs, he heard Sirius tell Lupin: “and you behave too, or I’ll send you up there with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): This chapter is an ode to the night's out that I never enjoyed until Covid hit and now I don't know when I'll taste Taka-Taka's cheesy chips again...(People have it a lot worse, so I'm not really complaining, but I do miss student life already.) But also - the fact they go into a greasy cafe late at night in Summer in the middle of London and it's empty?? I'm not buying that.  
> Also - this chapter didn't have a lot of actual Harry/Draco scenes for a Drarry fic and the next chapters are kind of similar. I'm doing so much upheaval on plot that it's taking a backseat, lmao - but it does make sense in terms of when we get back to the shippy stuff.  
> Thank you so much for your support on this fic <3 xx


	4. 4

Harry was not paying attention.

Everyone was discussing The Plan with solemn, quiet voices, looking over their shoulders for any sign of trouble. But Harry’s mind was still replaying the moment when they’d all been sat in his room, and Draco had asked, could they “at least take that one? That – what do you call it – a V.T?”

It had stuck in his mind because he’d never thought that he’d hear Draco Malfoy of all people messing up the name of a Muggle object. Harry would have used the word ‘cute,’ if he’d through that he could do so and not get murdered by a single glare.

The Dursleys had, eventually, agreed to leave. Harry suspected it was because more and more wizards were showing up, and they were desperate to get away from them all, more than anything. They’d left an hour ago, with two members of the Order.

Dudley had, very awkwardly, patted Harry on the shoulder before he left.

Aunt Petunia had looked over him and sniffed. But it wasn’t the usual sniff of contempt. There was something else there. Some lingering sadness. She’d opened her mouth to say “Lily, she –” and then shook her head and stepped out of the house.

Uncle Vernon hadn’t said anything. It was to the shock of the Order – who hadn’t realised that anyone could _not_ see Harry Potter as a hero. It was to the fury of Sirius, who had caught him with a hand on his chest and asked, “you might never see Harry again. Aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

There was a threat in his voice. It had been more of a growl.

Harry could still hear Sirius screaming that “your sister would be _disgusted_ with the way you treated your _nephew_! Her _son!_ ”

So Vernon had nodded, and muttered something to Harry.

And at Sirius’ look of fury, Harry had held up a hand.

“It doesn’t matter, Sirius.”

Finally, Mad-Eye Moody’s lecture came to a halt. Harry could tell, because everybody was staring at him expectantly. Even Moody’s blue eye swivelled towards him, as if even it knew he hadn’t been listening.

“Do you understand, Potter?” Moody demanded.

Harry nodded. The word vigilance had been said several times, but it was nothing he hadn’t already heard from Sirius and Lupin. Paris already made him feel as though his stomach was crawling with worms – he couldn’t dredge any more up for it.

“Good,” Moody said. Draco’s foot nudged Harry’s, and he caught his eye. Draco knew that Harry had not been paying the slightest bit of attention, and was clearly fighting not to smile.. “Now, as apparating seems to be out of the picture, we’ll have to move on foot. I’ve got just the thing, if I could have a few of your hairs, Potter.”

He frowned as Moody pulled a vial out of his robes. Then it clicked.

Harry stood. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Everyone here knows and agreed to the risks,” Moody said.

Harry looked around – Moody had brought along Mundungus Fletcher, who was shaking his head vigorously, as well as Tonks and Hagrid. There would be four other Harry’s – four other people at risk.

“We didn’t get caught coming here,” he said. “And we just took the train.”

“In the morning,” Lupin said, gently. “Travelling at night is much more dangerous, as you found out yourselves.”

“Voldemort and his followers are everywhere as soon as the sun is down,” Moody added.

“There’s no need to use Polyjuice potion,” Harry insisted. “It’s just asking for someone to get killed in my place.”

“Yes, Potter. “Moody’s eye swivelled faster and faster as he gained momentum, as though it was an agitated wasp in his socket. “In your place. Because _you’re_ the one who’s important in this war. We are expendable – you are not – if someone dies to protect you it’s not you they’re protecting – it is our hope to win. It’s about the war. And that’s something worth dying for. Now – get over yourself and give me your hair!”

Harry did. He numbly pulled a few strands from the top of his head, and dropped them into the vial.

There was complete silence in the room. Even as Mundungus, Tonks, Hermione and Sirius swallowed the potion. Harry couldn’t watch. There was something uncomfortable about seeing so many of him – as though he was staring into a carnival mirror.

Draco’s foot nudged his. He glanced up, glumly, just to have him whisper, “I’ve had dreams like this,” and make Harry’s stomach turn itself inside out and then back the right way again.

It was dark outside by the time they filed out.

Harry was going to ride in Hagrid’s sidecar, on Sirius’ old motorbike. He saw Sirius – himself – give it a longing stare – before he climbed onto a broom behind Lupin. Mundungus and Moody were also climbing onto a broom.

Which left Hermione and Draco on a thestral. Despite apparently agreeing to it, neither looked thrilled at the prospect. Especially – Harry thought – as they were probably going to be the main target. Draco’s presence would be a beacon to the ‘real Potter.’

“I still don’t understand why I have to come,” Mundungus muttered, tugging at his now oversized clothes. (Was Harry really that weedy?)

“Because I want to keep my eye on you and I’m not losing sight of Potter with my other,” Moody snapped.

“I’ll see you at Grimmauld Place.” Draco turned to Harry, before he got on the thestral. He reached out and squeezed his fingers. “Don’t look so worried.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Harry replied.

Draco stepped forward. Nudged Harry’s forehead with his own.

“Thankfully, _mon ange_ , I’m not you.”

Then he let go of Harry’s fingers, and joined Hermione-Harry on the thestral. His gaze lingered – wondering if that’s really how it looked when they used to fly to Hogsmede together. Realising how close they had sat. How well Draco’s arms fit around his waist and how the arch of his back seemed made to accommodate his head.

He passed Sirius and Lupin, who was saying that it felt so weird to look just like James – and maybe he could have done this a few years ago and pretended to be Harry’s father to adopt him. Lupin muttered something about not having fell in love with James.

Harry clambered into the side seat next to Hagrid.

He was watching Harry anxiously. “Are yer okay down there? Comfortable enough?”

It made Harry’s chest hurt. He forced himself to smile. “I’m great.”

“Good.” Hagrid revved up the motorbike. “Yer know, it’s funny…I brought you here all tha’ time ago, and now I’m taking you back away from here.”

It was hard to hear him over the roar of the engine. Harry club onto the sides as they rattled down the Dursley’s perfect lawn – until it wasn’t underneath them anymore – nothing was.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” He managed to call over. “You’ve always been there.”

Hagrid shrugged his huge shoulders. “A pleasure.”

As they increased their height – Harry wondered if any muggles could see them below – he leant back in the sidecar and thought. He still remembered Hagrid busting the Dursley’s door down. He remembered being terrified – that seemed ridiculous now.

It all seemed bizarre. To think back to just turning eleven years old and only thinking that wizards were from books and movies. To have never of heard of Voldemort’s name.

To be amazed by magic. He’d thought Hogwarts was wonderful – thought Dumbledore was wonderful.

Now Hogwarts was mundane and his feelings about Dumbledore were all a muddle.

It surprised him to find anger in his stomach at that. That Hogwarts – that magic – had started to become something he wished he’d never been involved in. The Harry in first year would have told him he was mad. That was the Harry who thought his father had been brilliant – now James Potter was all muddled up too. Nothing was _simple_ anymore.

Nothing seemed as magical as watching a feather float for the first time.

He wanted this war to be over. He was angry that this war had taken that from him. He wanted children to go to Hogwarts and still feel that magic and wonder – to be happy to go there, instead of fearful.

As soon as they were in the air, jets of green appeared.

The motorbike swerved – so that the pavement was above Harry and he was staring into the orange glow of streetlights. He clutched desperately at the ridges of the sidecar as the world jumbled over itself.

As soon as he had his bearings again, he was pulling out his wand, casting _stupefy_ almost blindly. There was a ring of hooded figures surrounding them – waiting – casting the killing curse.

Draco.

“Hagrid, _we can’t leave them!”_

“I ‘ave to keep you safe, Harry!” Hagrid’s voice came back.

He wanted to shout until his lungs were raw.

There was no time, he continued shooting – his eyes focusing on the four Death Eaters behind them. Green and red flew at each other, some of them shattering in the air.

Would the muggles think it was just a noisy neighbour having a very late fourth of July party?

And then dragon fire was coming out of the exhaust, and he felt as though he’d left his organs behind him. They burst into a tunnel – burst out of the other end – and they had left the Death Eater’s swerving around fire – but the sidecar was jerking away from the motorbike.

Hagrid cursed. Harry gripped it tighter, as though that would help keep it attached.

“I’m on it, Harry – stay there –“

“No – wait!”

Hagrid was pulling out his pink umbrella, just as Harry was dredging up the courage to pull himself over the rim of the sidecar.

No one was driving.

“ _Reparo!”_

There was a bang as the spell fired, but Harry was already leaping from the sidecar and onto the back of the motorbike. He was back to back with Hagrid – hardly seated on the back of the motorbike.

The sidecar fell away.

Hagrid groaned. “I’m sorry, Harry – I shouldn’t have – shouldn’t have tried to do it myself. Yeh all squashed –”

“It’s fine,” Harry shouted over the wind. He had one hand behind him, clutching a fistful of Hagrid’s moleskin coat. “It’s easier to shoot from here!”

The four Death Eaters were back, and Harry cast _reducto_ on the falling sidecar. The explosion blasted one through the air – the hooded figure knocked into another one and they both fell through the air together.

There were spots in Harry’s vision from the lights. He kept casting, half-blindly, half-hoping for that dragon fire again to get them a quick exit, and half not – because he would no doubt fall off.

Then his vision cleared. And he saw a pale face he recognised on one of the brooms alongside them.

Stan Shunpike.

He couldn’t let him fall like the others – Harry didn’t think about it as he cast, “ _expelliarmus_!”

“That’s him – that’s the real one!” a voice yelled.

“Hagrid, the fire!”

“But –”

“Please!”

“Hang on tigh’.”

He clutched on to Hagrid – clutched his legs either side of what little motorbike he was sat on – as the wind rushed in his ears. This was like flying – he told himself – it was like trying to catch the snitch on a particularly windy day – with Draco after it as well.

It was just like Quidditch, but he could feel the heat of the fire coming from the exhaust singing the hairs on his arms and warming his cheeks.

At least when they stopped, the air was empty.

Which should have made him feel better.

It didn’t.

“Do yer…think it worked?” Hagrid asked.

Harry didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to catch his breath. The lights of the London below looked just like the stars above him and he couldn’t figure out which was which. His head was spinning and his scar was burning.

His scar was burning.

“No,” he said, only half in reply to Hagrid’s question. Because now there was another shape in the darkness. Another figure crouched over a broom, hands deathly pale on the dark wood. Voldemort. He raised his wand.

Hagrid was bellowing.

Harry continued to shoot stunning spells with a shaking hand. He saw bodies flying out of the air around him, even as green darted towards him.

“We’re almost there!” Hagrid was pitching them in a death dive, throttling the exhaust even more. It rumbled in Harry’s ears – the only thing he could hear – the only thing he could see in the darkness was those red eyes. Snake eyes.

“ _Mine!”_

He wasn’t sure of Voldemort’s voice was in his mind or not. Nevertheless, he raised his wand. That anger at the war itself still sat inside him – he opened his mouth to scream any spell that came to mind.

When a brilliant burst of gold shot from his wand with so much force that he swore it helped the bike on its dangerous descent.

It sent Voldemort’s broom careening off to the side. He was screaming for someone to give him his wand. Hagrid was bellowing for Harry to hold on. Harry might have been yelling as he felt the bike beginning to slip away from under him – he couldn’t tell.

Then the sky cleared all at once – as if no one had been there at all.

An ear-splitting thud replaced the sound of the motorbike’s engine – reverberating throughout every bone in Harry’s body.

He felt himself flying through the air.

Then felt that same reverberation again – as he hit the ground – and knew no more.

*

When Harry opened his eyes, he found a fair, thinning haired man with a round belly sat next to him. He wondered if this was some relation that he didn’t know about.

Or perhaps this whole thing was a dream. Perhaps this man was a doctor, and Harry was in a muggle mental ward.

It would be a relief, in a way, to know that his life wasn’t in danger, and he was simply mad.

“What?” was the only word Harry could ask.

“Ah, you _are_ with us, after all, Mr Potter.” The man reached out a hand, as though he was going to brush the hair from Harry’s forehead. He didn’t. “When I saw you in the garden – you went straight over that bike – I didn’t – I did the best I could of course. Fixed your tooth fine – your ribs and arm will be sore for a few days, I’m afraid. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Thank you.” Harry wasn’t sure what else to say. He ran his tongue along his teeth – wondering just which one had been fixed, and just how bad it had been. A small part of him wondered what Draco would say, if Harry lost a front tooth. He’d never live it done. “Hagrid – where’s Hagrid?”

“The Missus is seeing to him now,” the man explained. “I’m Ted, by the way, Ted Tonks. Dora’s father.”

Harry tried to nod, but he couldn’t tell if that was just his vision swimming. He wondered if it was worth trying to correct the man on Tonks’ name. “Sorry for the crash landing.”

“Oh, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” The man stood, patting his stomach. “Gives the night a little excitement, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Harry actually found himself beginning to smile. He dragged himself into a sitting position, finding his left arm singing in pain at the motion. He winced as his chest protested too.

“Still,” Ted Tonks continued. “A nasty tumble, that.”

“They knew,” Harry muttered. “They ambushed us as we took off.”

“They knew?” Ted repeated incredulously. He shook his head, glancing out of the window. “Well – at least we know I can still cast a decent protective charm, eh?”

That was why they had all vanished. They had hit the charm around the house.

Harry looked at Ted Tonks as earnestly as he could, whilst his vision was still too bright and too sharp.

“You saved my life,” he said.

Ted’s face coloured, but he puffed out his chest.

“Well – it’s a pleasure, my boy. A pleasure.”

Harry smiled. He found himself falling back slightly on the sofa, his eyelids slipping down. He liked it here – in this house that smelt of cigarettes and had croquetted coasters over every surface. Pictures lined the shelves, and funny china ornaments sat there.

He could sleep here a little longer.

“Harry!”

He looked up to see Hagrid, knocking over anything in his path, coming towards him, and it woke him up completely. He began to stumble up again. He enveloped Harry in a tight hug as soon as he managed to stand. It made his ribs squeal with a fresh ache, but his whole body tingled with warmth.

Hagrid was okay. He was alive.

They both were.

“Blimey, Harry – how’d yer get us out of that one?” Hagrid asked. He held Harry by the shoulders – the only thing that kept him on his feet. “I though’ – well, I was sure that we were –“

“I don’t really know,” Harry said, truthfully.

Then he spotted the woman behind Hagrid, and frowned. Harry’s whole head tilted to the side – it felt as heavy as a lead balloon.

For a moment, he thought he saw Bellatrix Lestrange.

Then the woman stepped forward again, and he saw that her hair was a lighter brown, less tightly curled. That her skin did not have that same bone-pale hue, and that she was a few years older, a few pounds heavier.

“Ah.” Ted must have seen Harry’s confusion. “My wife – Dromeda.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Sorry for crashing in your garden.”

He couldn’t seem to think properly, and he thought it was best to stick to his manners.

She ignored him. “Where’s Dora? Do you know if she’s alright?”

“We don’t know wha’ happened to the others,” Hagrid explained. “They ambushed us as soon as we left Privet Drive, see.”

“The portkey,” Harry said the words as though he was enchanted. He blinked, trying to put some force behind his words. “We’re meant to use the portkey to get to Grimmauld Place.”

“Dora will be okay, Dromeda – she’s always told us she’s a tough girl who can handle herself. We have to let her.”

Dromeda nodded, but there was still a lingering worry in her eyes. She still bit down on her lip. It made her look less like Bellatrix – more like Narcissa Malfoy. Like Narcissa when she asked Harry to keep Draco out of harm’s way.

“You’ll have more luck contacting them if you call them Tonks, and use ‘they,’ instead of she,” Harry said. Still trying to be polite, still trying to see straight, but knowing he couldn’t leave without saying _something._

Dromeda stared at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression. Then, she nodded, and turned away.

“The portkey’s through here, son.” Ted Tonks led them away. Harry gripped Hagrid’s arm to keep himself upright, breathing shallowly. “It’s set to leave in just a moment.”

He nodded – hoping his head was moving and it wasn’t just his vision swimming.

The portkey was a hairbrush, and they both put a hand on it.

“Thank you,” he said again.

And then everything was black again – swirling around his head and now Harry wondered if he was going to wake up in a mental hospital.

He landed heavily, falling forward onto his hands and knees onto cracked paving slabs.

Hagrid caught his arm and gently pulled Harry back up. He dusted him off, as carefully as he could.

“It’s alrigh’, Harry – we made it.”

Harry looked up and saw that they were in the small, square back garden of Grimmauld Place. He recognised its silhouette against the night sky. It looked like a haunted house from a storybook, but it was home, and his heart sung to be there.

People were coming out of the back door.

“Harry! Harry – you’re the real one, aren’t you?” It was Hermione. Her hair looked singed and there was ash on her face.

Harry tried to nod again, but he still felt dizzy. Would it be unbecoming of the chosen one to lean over a flower bed and empty his stomach?

He let Hermione lead him into the house.

“We just got here – only a minute or two ago – we’re just wating for Ron now, and Professor Moody. But Sirius made it here just fine – he was the first one –”

They were just stepping through the kitchen door – Harry just caught a glimpse of everyone sat at the table – before Lupin was at his side. He took Harry’s shoulders, holding him firmly in the hallway.

“Wha’ are yer doing?” Hagrid demanded. “Get off Harry – he’s still injured!”

“What movie did we watch on your birthday?” Lupin demanded.

Harry blinked. He remembered it, as though it was yesterday, but he couldn’t see the relevance.

“The Wizard of Oz,” he spoke slowly, as though he was drunk.

Lupin looked at him for another moment, and then nodded, letting him through.

Hagrid had to duck to enter. “Wha’ the ruddy hell was tha’ about?”

“Anyone could be a spy,” Lupin replied, unapologetically. “The fact that the Death Eaters knew where we were – immediately…”

He fell into thought.

Draco was there. At the table. When he saw Harry, he stood, and crossed to him in two steps.

“You’re injured?” he echoed, his eyes flicking to Hagrid. “Where? How?”

Harry didn’t answer – couldn’t answer, until he had kissed Draco. It didn’t help his spinning head, but it made him feel a little more together.

Hopefully, it softened Draco up for his answer, “I did a front flip off of the motorbike.”

It did not. Draco's face went from pale and concerned to flushed and angry. "You did _what_?"

There was a dangerous tone to his voice.

"We crashed the motorbike," Harry said. "And I did a front flip off of it "

"Only because you-know-who was right behind us - raisin' his wand, abou' to hit Harry!" Hagrid exclaimed.

Draco was still prone to giving Hagrid looks of disgust, as he did now, but there was fear in his eyes too.

"Typical." His voice was shaking. "Potter and I avoid the Dark Lord for a week in Paris but I leave him with you lot for an hour and he almost dies.”

“They knew,” Harry said. He didn’t look at anyone in particular, but his hand reached out and found Draco’s. “They knew which of us was the real one.”

“They knew?” Lupin echoed. “How? What had you done?”

“N – nothing any different than…” Thinking felt like wading through hot lava. It hurt, trying to remember back to before the crash. “Expelliarmus. I thought I saw Stan Shunpike – the Knight bus conductor – I couldn’t – I didn’t want to kill him, so I cast expelliarmus.”

“What’s wrong with stupefy?” Lupin asked, looking pale and aghast.

“Then – then he’d fall off of the broom, and that would be as good as killing him.”

“Harry.” Lupin took hold of Harry’s shoulders, again. “He was trying to kill _you_.”

“I couldn’t – I – I only thought about not killing him.” It was getting harder and harder to string two words together.

“Expelliarmus is the move you used in that graveyard –”

“I know.”

“They think it’s your signature move.” Lupin squeezed Harry’s shoulders. “You can’t let it be.” Harry nodded, again, and Lupin peered closer at him. “Are you paying attention?”

“I…think I still have a concussion,” Harry managed to say. He didn’t mention his still aching arm, or ribs.

“Tea.” Lupin nodded. “Sit, and have tea. And chocolate.”

He let himself be steered to the kitchen table, and sat heavily. “I’d rather go to bed.”

“Can you?” Lupin was already putting the kettle on. “Knowing that people aren’t back yet?”

Harry groaned, resting his pounding head in his hands. No, he couldn’t, and Lupin knew that.

He accepted the tea and the chocolate, cradling the mug in his hands.

Draco sat next to him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“How badly are you hurt?” he asked.

“A few ribs, my wrist.” Harry sipped the tea. It made his head feel the slightest bit less wobbly. “If I lost my front tooth, would you still love me?”

“No,” Draco replied. He examined Harry with dark-ringed eyes, then pecked him on the cheek. “Of course. But I’m already thinking of a dozen rude names to call you.”

Harry sighed, letting his head fall onto Draco’s. His hair, remarkably, was still soft underneath his cheek. And he was sure that he dozed off, because he didn’t remember sitting there, with Hagrid opposite him and Hermione on his other side.

But suddenly he was emerging from the darkness, blinking rapidly and asking “Sirius? Where’s Sirius?”

He looked up from Draco to see Lupin glance away from him.

“Sirius is being healed upstairs.”

Immediately, he stood, dislodging Draco. “He’s hurt?”

Lupin nodded. He headed around the table, and now Harry could see that Hermione’s head was in her arms, her hair covering her face. She may have been sleeping, or crying, it was hard to tell.

Hagrid, however, was dozing off with a saucepan of tea in front of him.

Draco stood too, but Lupin shook his head, minutely, and he sank back down, watching Harry like a hawk.

He headed up the narrow staircase. Not tired like he was before – but everything still felt like a dream. Like there was a shadow around the edges.

“Snape was one of the Death Eaters who found us.” Lupin’s voice was low. “Sectumsempra was always one of his favourite spells.”

Harry wanted to repeat the spell back, to say it with the horror it deserved, but he could only gape at Lupin. It was like hearing the words underwater, and he couldn’t separate them properly.

“It didn’t hit anywhere fatal, but it did hit his wand hand,” Lupin continued. “I’m no healer. I’m not sure…”

Lupin broke off on the landing, his voices twisting inward on itself. He was staring through the gap of the door they were stood in front of, looking much younger and much older at the same time. Like a boy stood lost at the bus stop, or a grizzled soldier waiting for a charge to return.

“If you’re going to cry over me, can you at least come in here to do it?” Sirius’ voice, albeit weak, called from inside the room.

And despite Lupin’s pale face and clenched jaw, he managed to roll his eyes. He pushed open the door, trying to scowl at Sirius.

He lay in the bed, his hair hanging dark and lank around a waxy face. He looked as tired as Lupin – as tired as Harry felt. But there was no blood. Harry had expected blood to be everywhere.

Molly Weasley was sat next to him, tightly bandaging his arm.

No, Harry realised – it was Sirius’ hand. Or what was left of it. He couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked a lot smaller than it should be, bound tightly in crisp, white bandages.

He stepped – stumbled forward- until he was sat on Sirius’ other side. He felt the sudden urge to press up close to him, like a small child.

Harry was too big for that now.

There was so much that he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find any words.

Sirius’ mouth quirked upwards when he saw him. “Harry. You made it.”

He nodded.

Then Sirius put a hand – his only good hand – on Harry’s shoulder – on his cheek, cupping it so that Harry’s hair curled around his fingers. He was grinning at Harry – that real grin that was so rare.

“Your hand,” he managed to say.

“Oh, I’m sure Snivellus came away looking worse.” Sirius was still smiling – how was he still smiling. “I’ve still got my handsome face. And even if he wasn’t born looking like that, I hit him with a pretty good jinx.”

“Before you lost your wand.” Lupin leant on the end of the bed, his arms crossed.

“I liked it better when you were mourning me.”

“Oh, it’s just like having the boys back.” Molly shook her head. She stood. “Stop sniping at each other and get some rest, whilst you can. I’ve tried the best I can, Sirius, but I’m afraid…I’m afraid you’re a couple of fingers down.”

Sirius looked at the bandaged lump at the end of his arm, then up at Molly. His face was serious, his dark eyes shining.

“Thank you, Molly. Especially after –“

“Rest,” she said, firmly. There were hard lines around her mouth.

She looked tired too. Harry was just now realising how tired everybody looked.

“And you, Mr Potter.” She took him by the elbow, pulling him up. “Should be in your own bed, too. Look at you – like you’re half-dead.”

The door slammed downstairs. They all jumped, and Lupin ran out onto the landing.

“It’s Ron and Tonks,” he said, already started back down the stairs. “That only leaves –“

Harry had only just peered over the balcony, when he heard Tonks’ voice.

“Mad-Eye’s dead.”

His stomach hit the floor, and kept going.

There was a silence, in every room of the house, whilst the house itself groaned, as though it was mourning.

“It was Dung,” Ron added. His voice was strained. “He apparated as soon as he saw you-know-who. Gave Mad-Eye away.”

“We’re going to go back out – get the body,” Tonks continued.

“I’m going too.” Harry started down the stairs. He didn’t feel tired anymore – he felt wide awake. The anger was back in his gut.

“No,” Lupin said.

“I have to – it’s my fault.”

“You need to stay here. It’s the safest place you can be.”

“As long as I’m in here, you’re all in danger!” Harry’s voice cracked. He had to grip onto the bannister, and it turned his knuckles white.

Lupin looked at him, and raised his wand.

Harry watched for his own – only to find that it wasn’t in his back pocket – he’d left it on the kitchen table.

And he’d moved a moment too late.

“ _Dormio_.”

Harry saw a calming, orange light heading towards him.

And then the world disappeared once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): I got rid of Dumbledore flying because it was really dumb and pointless.
> 
> Also, healing everything immediately with magic means there's no use for the Hospital Wing...at all...so I went with magic fixing minor things and helping halfway. Like in Trudi Canavan's 'The Dark Magician Trilogy' (which you should read if you're disillusioned with Harry Potter. It's a similar premise but with a female protagonist, and two canonically gay characters who get together at the end.)
> 
> Dormio is the latin word for sleep, and as that's the extent of Rowling's 'worldbuilding' with spells, I thought it would be alright to use it here.
> 
> But yeah - I hope this chapter still lives up to expectations. Please do leave a comment below and thank you for the support so far. And I'll see you next week xx


	5. 5

5

Harry elbowed Draco in the face as he woke up.

“Fuck!” He heard Draco cry, but he sounded far away. “ _Potter_!”

“Moody.” Harry was tearing away the covers – trying to stand, but finding himself light-headed and pitching into the nightstand. The sheets were tangled around him, as though they were actively trying to stop him. “I have to help recover Moody’s body.”

“They already have.” He turned to see Draco, with a hand over his nose, scowling at Harry in just the way he used to. “They got back before it was light.”

Harry blinked. Then he realised that the room was bright with sunlight coming through moth-eaten curtains. That it was warm, in here.

“What – what’s the time?” he asked.

Draco stretched, arching his back like a cat and giving his nose a final rub. It still looked bright pink. “Around noon, I would suppose.”

It was so late.

“I have to –” Harry stumbled to the door.

Draco stepped in front of him. His arms were folded. “Have to what, exactly?”

Harry hesitated. It felt as though his mind was floating to the top of a pond – he needed to wait for everything to become clear, again. “The horcuxes.”

“You need to rest.” Draco stepped forward. Harry stood his ground, trying to frown but knowing that it was more of a pout. “Broken ribs, remember? Broken wrist?”

“I’ve had worse.” The dull throb in his chest and hand were nothing compared to growing back bones in second year.

Draco’s hands thumbed the hem of Harry’s t-shirt. “Let me see.”

He did. Helped Draco pull his shirt – the same one he’d been wearing last night – over his head. There was a ribbon of blue, black and purple across the right of his ribs, mottling down into yellows. The same on his wrist – his wand arm, he thought, grimly.

“It doesn’t even hurt,” he told Draco.

Who raised a thin eyebrow at him, then pushed down on the bruises with the heel of his hand.

Harry winced.

“Liar.” A smirk played at Draco’s lips. He kissed Harry, tenderly. “Rest. Everyone else is.”

Harry ran his fingers through Draco’s hair. It caught the sun, turning white gold and making his fingers look tanner than ever.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that we’re safe now and to just stay put.”

“No.” Draco’s touch was gentle now. Drifting over the bruises and round to Harry’s back, light as a feather. “Because I know you’re not going to do that.”

“People have died.” Harry’s fingers drifted down, to Draco’s cheek. “Sirius’ hand –“

“This is a war,” Draco replied. “People die in a war. Old Mad-Eye was right yesterday when he said that it’s not all about _you_. This is a bigger fight than that.”

“It’s a fight you wanted to walk away from.” Harry took Draco’s wrists, tried to pull him off.

Draco stood firm. Hissed, “because this war has cost me – me, personally – enough. I’m allowed to tap out whilst I still can. Before it takes you as well.”

“It was my decision to go to the Dursley’s,” Harry said. “If we hadn’t have – then Mad-Eye wouldn’t have –”

“He knew the risks, he said that.” Draco shook Harry by the waist, frowning at him. His grey eyes seemed like pale fire, his lips colourless. “Enough of this, Harry. We did go to your terrible family’s house. It happened. You have to move on.”

And when Draco used his first name, Harry knew that he was being earnest. But that didn’t help the burning feeling inside him. The red hot anger and guilt that curled in his stomach and turned to smoke at his chest – choking his throat and making him feel raw and sore.

“He’s _dead_.”

“Because he needed to get _you_ to safety.” Draco pressed his forehead against Harry’s, his fingers pressing into his bare skin. “And he did. You’re safe. Stay safe. At least – at least for today.”

Draco’s voice had dropped to a whisper. He pressed himself against Harry, as if he was the mast of a boat and they were sailing through a storm. That was what mattered to Draco. It wasn’t the death – the whole world could die and it wouldn’t matter as long as he had what was important to him. It was the way that he always was.

But how could Harry say no? That he still wanted to leave? When Draco was like _that_? When his voice was cracking and his face was pressed against Harry’s neck?

He pulled him closer – rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder and found that he was shaking. His own voice was thick when he spoke again, “Sirius – and Mad-Eye.”

Draco held him more tightly. Whispered, “I know,” and that was all.

Harry closed his eyes, tightened his arms around Draco, and tried to ride out the fire inside of him. It was something he was becoming used to – something that he knew he had to wait out until time dulled the ache. Tamed the fire into dead wood and ashes, ready to be ignited again at the next loss.

His heart was racing. He could feel it pounding through him, and could feel Draco’s doing the same. Their hearts ran either side of each other, as though they were trying to break out of their ribcages.

The ache softened into the same pain he felt in his wrist. It meant that it was bearable. That he could breathe a little easier around the lump that expanded through to his throat. That he could pull away from Draco, just enough to kiss his cheek.

“You’re not injured in any way?”

“I am.” Draco looked down, so that his pale lashes hid his eyes. Harry’s hands clenched on his shoulders. “I’ve got a bite mark on my arm. Think it came from a werewolf.”

He looked up at Harry, and smirked. Smirked even when Harry was shaking Draco’s shoulders and crying, “that’s not _funny_!”

Draco finally shook his head, and turned serious. “I’m fine. Nothing more than a few scrapes, thanks to Granger.”

“Hermione’s always been brilliant at spells.” He let his hand fall down to take Draco’s.

“Don’t tell her I said that.” Draco squeezed Harry’s fingers.

Harry smiled. It was a small, difficult smile, but it was still there. And that counted for something.

“Never,” he said. And kissed Draco again. Would there ever be a time he didn’t want to?

Harry led Draco from the room, and down the stairs. They could hear voices from the kitchen, getting louder the farther down they got.

“We could just go back to sleep,” Draco murmured. He kissed the back of Harry’s knuckles. “You know – hide?”

Harry shook his head. He needed to be a part of this.

“I could give you another birthday present. Or you could give me one.” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper. His thumb traced across Harry’s wrist. Just hard enough to feel his nail.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. It was a tempting offer. Very temping because last time he had felt like he had been flying. And now that felt like a year ago.

But then he heard Sirius’ voice. And remembered his bandaged hand. He shook his head again at Draco, though he made sure to turn around so that Draco could see just how sorry he was.

“What do you expect me to do?” They heard Sirius ask. “Chain and lock him up so that he can’t get away?”

“Well, at least then we’d know where he is – that he’s safe!” That was Molly Weasley.

“Where’s Percy?”

A silence followed Sirius’ question. Harry and Draco paused outside the door to the kitchen.

“Percy is…” Molly’s voice was quiet. “He’s in a very difficult position with the ministry, and he cannot risk anyone thinking he is compromised.”

Harry pushed the door open, because he couldn’t bear hearing her like _that_.

“Harry!” Sirius immediately stood from the long – and mostly empty – kitchen table. “You’re awake. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

He put a hand – the one not swaddled in bandages – on Harry’s shoulder. And he looked so concerned that Harry felt the urge to cry. Instead, he nodded.

“But are you okay?” he asked. “How’s your…”

He couldn’t say it. Sirius paused for a moment, his eyes flicking down, before he smiled. Giving Harry’s shoulder a squeeze, he led him back to the table. Hermione and Ron sat next to each other, opposite him, nursing a huge mug of coffee between them and both looking as though they too had only just woken up.

As Harry watched, Ron hooked his fingers through the handle, they nudged Hermione’s, and they both pulled away. There was the distinct feeling that he was missing something important in that interaction, but he wasn’t sure what.

Lupin was sat on Sirius’ other side. _His_ fingers traced the bandages over Sirius’ ruined hand idly when he sat back down.

“What’s the plan?” Harry asked. He took a seat opposite Sirius, and Draco slipped in beside him.

“I’m told.” There was a wry smile on Sirius’ face, but he was watching his own hand tap on the table. “That we should keep you here. Apparently under lock and key, if necessary.”

“It’s the safest place,” Molly Weasley said from the head of the table. “Dumbledore was the secret keeper and he’s…gone.”

“Professor Snape knows, though,” Draco said. “And no matter who’s side you think he’s on, he’d sell this place out to keep his life.”

“I can deal with Snape.” Sirius’ voice was almost a growl.

“I’m not just sitting here and letting everyone do the dying for me,” Harry said. “There’s – we need to hunt the horcruxes.”

“No offense, Harry.” Hermione looked up with dark ringed eyes. “But you seemed pretty content to just sit in Paris whilst we all wondered if you were dead.”

It knocked the wind out of him. He looked to Ron, who just raised a sad eyebrow at him.

“She’s got a point, mate,” he said, sadly.

“That – that was different.” But he couldn’t say how. “That was a mistake.”

“Was it?” Draco’s voice was only low enough for Harry to hear.

He turned to meet his grey eyes, ‘no,’ already on his lips. But instead, he said, “yes. It was irresponsible. I just…needed to get away from everything.”

“And now, because _you’re_ ready, you want to get involved?” Lupin asked. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry, but it doesn’t work both ways.”

He was stunned by that. It was like a slap in the face. He could only sit and bite his lip and try to come out with a good answer.

Mrs Weasley stood, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Harry, dear, would you like some breakfast?”

Harry nodded. He nudged Draco’s foot, to try and apologize.

Draco moved his away. He was pointedly looking away from Harry, chin resting in his hand.

“Sooner or later, I’ll have to face him,” Harry said, as Mrs Weasley busied herself behind him, getting cornflakes out of the cupboard. “The prophecy says neither can live whilst the other survives.”

“You never believed in that prophecy, Harry.” Hermione’s tone was gentler now, her eyes softer. And he understood what she was really trying to tell him; that it was safe here, for all of them. That at this moment, she wanted to stay, regardless of the prophecy, because she looked bone tired.

“I didn’t,” Harry replied. That was true. “But last night, my wand did – something – and know I’m not sure. It shot on its own.”

“That’s impossible,” Hermione said, still gentle.

“She’s right,” Lupin said. “You probably did magic without meaning to, Harry. Didn’t that ever happen before you came to Hogwarts?”

“Well – yes – but nothing like this.” Harry thought back to how his hair miraculously grew back, and could not compare that two. “It shot gold sparks. I don’t know any spell like that, do you?” He waited for a response, but everyone was looking at him with a concerned, yet patient expression. “My wand’s done some weird things before – like in the graveyard. _Priori incantatum._ Maybe my wand is the only one that can stand up to his. That means that I’m the only one who can face him.”

Mrs Weasley placed the bowl of cornflakes and the carton of milk in front of Harry. He poured it in slowly, whilst the table digested that information. It was a long silence, before Mrs Weasley muttered something about making arrangements to get home – that she still had so much to sort out.

She bustled from the room, but she still looked dazed.

Harry tucked into his breakfast. But it was tasteless.

“Even if – no matter if we stay here or not.” Hermione was speaking carefully, her eyes flickering from Lupin to Sirius and back. “We can still help you. We have information about the horcruxes, and we have to destroy them if we have any hope.”

“Hermione, we don’t even know what they are. _Where_ they are,” Ron said.

“We know one.” Hermione nodded at Harry. “The locket.”

“The locket’s a fake,” Harry replied. “Remember? That – R.A.B took the real one.”

Sirius turned to him then, with a sudden sharpness. There was a dark fire in his eyes.

“R.A.B?” he echoed. “R.A.B, you’re sure?”

The intensity that had come over Sirius almost scared him. “Why?”

He didn’t get an answer. Sirius was looking to Lupin. Lupin looked back, and they seemed to exchange an entire conversation without speaking.

It seemed like an age had passed before Sirius nodded. He looked down at the table as he spoke, down at one mangled and one normal hand.

“My little brother’s name was Regulus Arcturus Black. He joined up to the Death Eaters when we were still at school. I didn’t have a lot to do with him then, he hated me because I left all this behind. I thought…well, that he got cold feet about joining up, and when he tried to leave, he was shot in the back.”

“Well he definitely went to that cave and swapped out the lockets,” Harry said.

Hermione gasped, suddenly, covering her mouth with her hand.

They all stared at her.

“The Summer we first moved in – there was a locket – a locket that we couldn’t get into, do you remember?”

Harry shook his head – no he didn’t remember at all.

“We threw it out.” Hermione stood. “I remember, it was one of the things that we threw out. It could be anywhere by now.”

For a moment, panic seemed to grip them all. The one horcrux they knew – and they had thrown it away.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Sirius said, gently. “It might not be lost.”

“What do you mean?” Lupin stood with Sirius, his hand hovering over his wounded arm.

“Kreacher.” Sirius’ lip curled as he replied. “I knew he was picking stuff out of the trash – stuff that we wanted to get rid of. If it was Regulus’, he would have done anything to keep it.”

He turned, and with an almost frenzied movement, headed to the kitchen cupboard next to the stove. He wrenched it open just as Hermione cried out, “ _no_!”

“What?” Sirius turned to her, blinking as though he’d thought she was in immense pain.

“That’s Kreacher’s _den_ , Sirius. You can’t just go in there – it’s an invasion of his privacy.”

Sirius continued to stare at her, as though Hermione had grown two heads. “It’s _Kreacher_.”

“He still has _feelings_!” Hermione insisted. “No wonder he gave up information to Bellatrix. He lived here all alone all this time and then someone finally shows up and it’s you – and you just kick him around and shout at him. And I bet when she turned up she was all nice to him and he latched on to it, doing any favour she asked because she was the only one who seemed to care about him!”

There was another moment of silence.

“Hermione.” Sirius spoke slowly. “I hate Kreacher, because Kreacher hates me.”

“That’s exactly how you speak about Snape,” Harry said.

“And he killed Dumbledore!” Sirius snapped. “Harry, Snape always had an affinity for the dark arts – he called your mother mudblood for most of our time at school.”

“Whereas Kreacher’s just mirroring the opinions of anyone who’s nice to him,” Hermione said. “And if your brother really was a Death Eater, it would be the best way to keep suspicion off of Kreacher. To have him act like Bellatrix.”

Sirius looked her over once more, and then he sighed, and slowly closed the kitchen cupboard once more.

“Fine. We’ll try your way. But he won’t like it – or you – either.”

Hermione nodded.

Sirius snapped his fingers, and called out for Kreacher.

There was a crack and the smell of sulphur in the air as the elf appeared, standing on the kitchen table. Harry pulled his cornflakes out of the way. Kreacher had always made him realise that Dobby was cute, for a house elf. He preferred his huge eyes and pencil nose to Kreacher’s bloodshot ones and snub-nose.

Kreacher peered around at them, muttering things under his breath about mudbloods, half-human filth and blood traitors.

Sirius held up a hand. “Enough. Kreacher, I order you not to use those words again.”

Hermione frowned at Sirius, but Harry had to admit that it was a fair order.

Kreacher’s mouth kept moving, no doubt mouthing the words he could no longer say, until his eyes fixed upon Draco.

“You.” He gasped. Draco looked at Harry, frowning, but he could only shrug. “You’re Miss Sissy’s son – you look just like her.” He stepped closer on the table, kneeling down to look at Draco better. “Just like lovely, kind Miss Sissy…punished for being with the wrong people…woefully punished…you deserve this house instead of… _him_.”

“He means Narcissa,” Harry said, helpfully.

“I know what he means, Potter,” Draco snapped. There was a shadow over his features at the mention of her. Then it passed, and Draco nodded to Harry, a spark in his eye. He turned back to Kreacher. “And yes, I should be in charge around here, shouldn’t I?”

“Hey!” Sirius snapped, but Draco flashed him a look.

“Now there’s something that I’m looking for in this house,” Draco continued. There was something of his old drawl in his words. “Something that these fools threw out, but that is very important I have. It was a locket, Kreacher – gold – do you know it?”

Hermione nodded, almost proudly, at Draco’s softer tone. Harry knew that it was a show – that he was manipulating Kreacher just like Bellatrix had.

Kreacher nodded, and his strange little face curved upwards, into a grin.

“Good.” Draco cleared his throat. He was enjoying this, Harry realised – because this was the pureblood Draco Malfoy, the one who lorded it over people – who was handsome and popular.

And Harry had to admit, it made him seem ridiculously attractive. It reminded him of the old days in fifth year when he wasn’t sure if Draco was trying to help him or kill him but couldn’t leave him alone all the same. He wanted Draco to look at him like that again, he realised, whilst he had Harry pressed against the wall – maybe a hand on his chin to force him to look up.

He blinked the image away and shuffled on the bench as Draco continued talking, “do you have it?”

At this, Kreacher let out a strange kind of wail, pulling on his short, bat-wing-like ears.

“No!” Kreacher moaned. “No – I did – I kept it, Master, I promise I did, but – but –“

He began to wail harder, his face screwing up so that he resembled an old, ugly baby. Harry winced, looking away, even as Draco turned to him with eyes that screamed ‘help me.’

“It’s alright, Kreacher,” Hermione said, soothingly. “Tell us what happened.”

He shied away from her, stepping backwards so that his foot nearly landed in Harry’s cereal. He pulled it away again, holding it against his chest.

“Don’t be like that, Kreacher.” Draco’s face was a picture of reluctance. He smoothed out his brow. “I’m a good judge of character, aren’t I? As Sissy’s son, I mean.”

Kreacher turned to him, blinking his eyes. Then he nodded.

“She’s my friend, and she cares about House Elves, so don’t – I mean –” This looked just as painful for Draco to say as it was for Kreacher to hear. “Don’t be _too_ horrible to her. Please, just, tell us what happened to the locket.”

“Stolen,” Kreacher said, and at the look on Sirius’ face he cackled with glee. “Yes, yes – when the house was empty – when you were all _gone_ – someone came in and they pilfered it all!” His face fell, just as suddenly as it had lit up. “Took Miss Sissy’s pictures, took Mistresses gloves – took many, many things – took Kreacher’s things.”

“Who?” Draco asked.

“I can take a wild guess.” There was a grim, yet furious set to Sirius’ jaw. “It was that shit Mundungus, wasn’t it Kreacher?”

Despite his loathing for Sirius, Kreacher seemed to appreciate his shared anger, because he nodded empathetically. When he looked back at Draco, he gave another howl.

“I was saving Miss Sissy’s things – for you, when you came back from school…now they’re gone.”

Draco didn’t reply. Harry saw his fist clench in his lap, the set of his jaw.

He reached over and brushed his thumb over Draco’s knuckles. After a moment, Draco took Harry’s hand, but he didn’t say anything more.

“Kreacher,” Harry said, resisting the urge to jerk himself away when Kreacher turned to him. “Can you tell us the whole story behind the locket? How did Regulus find it in the first place?”

It took a lot of coercing, a lot of looking to Draco to ask Kreacher nicely and Kreacher whimpering in fear. Until Sirius snapped, “tell us the bloody story!” and he had to comply. Shooting hurt looks at Sirius, Kreacher told them about Voldemort taking him to the lake, of making him drink the potion, of dropping the locket there.

He was saved by Regulus, telling him to come home. Only to take him back there again, later and for the whole ordeal to repeat.

But that time, Kreacher didn’t drink the potion.

Lupin snaked an arm around Sirius’ back at the insinuation, but Sirius didn’t move. He was staring at the floor, his expression unreadable.

Nothing Kreacher did had destroyed the locket. That, coupled with the order never to tell anyone, made him dissolve into uncontrollable sobs on the table.

Hermione tried to comfort him, but he pulled himself away.

Harry looked to Draco.

“What do you want me to do?” Draco hissed.

“He likes you,” Harry replied. “Be nice to him.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry, and then rolled them. He cleared his throat and said, “Kreacher. Reg – your master would have been proud of you. You followed your orders as best as you could.”

Kreacher’s sobbing paused. He looked up at Draco with bloodshot eyes.

He looked at Harry again – just to emphasize how much he hated this, before he continued, “we’re going to…finish what he set out to do. We’ll destroy that locket. But we have to know where it’s gone. Go –”

“Malfoy, you can’t make him go and work for you when he’s in this state,” Hermione said. “Surely what he’s just told you – surely that shows just how _twisted_ it is that they have to obey, no matter what!”

Draco sighed.

“Fine!” He clearly made an effort to soften his tone, but there was still a look of repulsion on his features. “When you’re ready, go find Mundungus Fletcher for us.”

“You can bring him back here so that I can wring his scrawny neck,” Sirius added.

 _That_ made Kreacher nod. It seemed their hatred for each other could be bridged by their hatred for Mundungus, because Kreacher was even trying to smile again.

After a few more minutes of him sobbing, he cracked his fingers and disappeared.

Harry tapped his fingers on the table, still holding onto Draco’s hand, his half-eaten cereal balanced on his lap.

“Well,” Sirius was tapping his foot as he paced behind him. “Well, I suppose we just have to wait.”

“Yeah, but what then?” Ron asked. “I mean, Kreacher’s already said he couldn’t destroy it. What are we going to do with the locket when we find it?”

“It’s always good to know there is absolutely no plan,” Draco said.

Harry would have glared at him, but he was thinking. Still tapping on the table. They had come across two horcruxes already, and they were both destroyed.

“I destroyed the diary with a Basilisk fang,” he said.

“Oh, brilliant,” Ron replied. “I’m sure Hermione has one of them in her bag.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Ron.” She frowned at him.

“You have everything else in there,” he said. “What about the ring?”

“I dunno.” Harry shrugged. “But it made Dumbledore’s hand go all funny, whatever it did, didn’t it?”

“I can volunteer for that one,” Sirius said.

“Don’t.” Lupin took hold of Sirius’ bandaged wrist – stopping him in his tracks, giving him a stern look.

“Well, there – there must be something.” Hermione stood, nodding to herself. “I’ll have a look through the rest of the books left here, whilst we wait. Maybe one will be helpful.”

Ron watched her for a moment, before standing so abruptly that he bashed his knees against the table. He looked at them. “I’ll go too.”

“And you.” Lupin turned to Sirius, with that same look. “Need to rest up if you’re going to be throttling anyone.” That look was turned onto Harry and Draco. “Whatever the pair of you do, don’t get into trouble.”

“I never get _into_ trouble.” Harry tried to look as innocent as possible. “Trouble just always finds me.”

“I mean it Harry.” But Lupin’s mouth flickered into a half-smile and Sirius was grinning at him.

That just left Harry and Draco. They sat in silence. Harry was all too aware of how cold Draco’s hand felt in his. He squeezed them, to try to get them to warm up.

Draco gave a small squeeze back. His gaze was distant, seeing something that Harry couldn’t.

“I’m sorry about your mum’s things,” he murmured, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

Draco shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Harry leant on his hand, tilting his head so that Draco had to see his raised eyebrow.

Draco looked at him, and raised an eyebrow back. Then he sighed, and pushed himself away from the table.

“They’re just _things_ ,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like it was _her_ …it’s not like Kreacher knows where _she_ is.”

“I’m sure…” How could Harry be sure? “I mean, no news is good news, isn’t it?”

“How would we know?” Draco replied. “I didn’t realise the Dark Lord sent letters of condolences out.” He softened, almost as soon as he said it, pushing his hair away from his face and giving Harry a small smile. “On second thought – it’s my father, isn’t it? He’d make sure that I heard about it.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Or, rather, he knew the question that he had to ask, but he wasn’t sure if he had the nerve. It was the same question that was rattling through him more and more often – any time he saw Draco look sad or hurt – anytime he mentioned Paris.

But, shit, he was a Gryffindor, and that meant that he did have the nerve. He had the nerve for anything. And he needed to ask it now, before things really got started. Before Draco got too far into this and they couldn’t turn back.

Because no matter what Sirius and Lupin said, Harry knew he was not going to stay put in Grimmauld’s Place for the rest of the year.

“Do you wish you’d never talked to me? That day by the Black Lake?” His voice shook a little at the end, but he managed to keep hold of Draco’s gaze, and that was what was important.

Draco looked at him, frowning. Then he shook his head, smiling as though the thought made him laugh, but then growing nervous; almost scared.

“Do you?”

Harry could only shake his head. There was a large ball in his throat and if he tried to speak then he was worried that he would burst into tears.

He stood from the table, and pulled Draco into a hug. There was a moment, before he felt Draco’s arms around him. Tight. Tighter than really necessary.

Or maybe not tighter than necessary.

Because really, every day had turned into a battle. And they had a long way to go in the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Not to play who has it worse but losing an ear seems like the strangest injury to me. I guess it would effect your hearing and we're just not in a position to see George struggle with that because we're stuck in Harry's viewpoint...but I thought that losing a hand - losing your wand hand especially - had a little bit more impact.
> 
> ANYWAY IF YOU WANT A BOOK THAT DEALS WITH EAR LOSS IN A REALISTIC WAY THAT EFFECTS THE CHARACTERS IN THE BOOK READ GENTLEMAN'S GUIDE TO VICE AND VIRTUE.
> 
> (Or just read it anyway, because it's such a GOOD gay historical romanc)
> 
> And since I hadn't killed Sirius off in Hand in Glove, I felt that I couldn't let him off too lightly, either..
> 
> Also the fact that the order know nothing about the horcruxes just seems like an excuse for Harry not to get help throughout the whole book. It also then builds him up into a legend because nobody would know the true work behind defeating Voldemort and honestly is more of Dumbledore manipulating Harry. So I scrapped that because this is a war and you would share how you're going to win it. And because Harry's feelings about Dumbledore are a little more developed throughout this series.
> 
> That's all I have to say this week. Thank you all so much for the comments and support! Even if I don't reply personally, I do read them and really appreciate them!! 
> 
> Go read The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue xx


	6. 6

6

The day passed, and Kreacher did not return with Mundungus Fletcher in tow. There was, however, two Death Eaters stood out in the square. They stared blankly at the house but did not enter. It was as if they knew it was there, but could not see it.

Which meant that the tongue tying curse on the door really had stopped Snape’s tongue, or they were biding their time.

Either way, it made Harry feel antsy. He couldn’t sit still, not whilst he was waiting for Kreacher to come back. Maybe with the locket. And then he’d have it. Another horcrux.

And what would they do with it then? They were no closer to knowing how to destroy it, despite Hermione’s long hours in the little library at Grimmauld place. Basilisk venom was their only option.

“Could always breed one,” Ron had said over a meagre dinner of bread and cheese. No one was sure how to go shopping without being caught by the Death Eaters. “Pretty sure it’s detailed in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.”

“That’s illegal,” Lupin replied.

“Well –” Ron had turned red. “I’d rather by arrested than shot to death by those two out there.”

Surprisingly, Hermione had laughed at that. She had smothered it quickly, hiding behind her hair, but Harry had seen it. Even more unusual was the way her face fell slightly, when Ron continued, “I bet Nott could do it.”

“I bet Nott wants nothing to do with Harry bloody Potter,” Draco said. “He’s hiding, remember?”

“Sounds very Slytherin of him, to just hide under a rock in a war,” Ron muttered. There was a sour look about him.

“Sounds very Gryffindor of you to expect everyone to stick their necks out,” Draco retorted. “There’s nothing wrong with looking out for yourself, _especially_ in a war.”

Ron had told Harry, later, that it was because he missed Nott’s company. And that he was worried about him. Worried about everyone, actually, even though his mother had assured him that Fred and George were fine, that Ginny was planning to return to Hogwarts, Bill was moving into a seaside cottage with Fleur and Charlie was staying in Romania. (And really, dealing with dragons was no more dangerous than anything they were doing now.)

She had not mentioned Percy.

Harry had tried to comfort him, but he wasn’t very good at figuring out what to say. He’d never had a family to worry about, and now that he did, he knew they were all safe in Grimmauld Place.

Overall, he just felt frustrated. Another day dawned without Kreacher’s return and he was desperate to do _something_. (Something other than read in the library with Hermione.) He sat at the window in the drawing room on the first floor, staring out at the Death Eaters on the street below.

The house had been fixed up last year, and Sirius had kept at it whilst he’d been at Hogwarts. Now the mahogany lacquer shone on the welsh dresser, the huge writing desk and the high-backed chairs. The wallpaper was no longer peeling and had been revitalised so that the pattern of leaves was a violent green. Even the trinkets no longer looked like junk, but held an air of haughtiness about them. Grimmauld Place was comfortable now, in a way that felt like home.

It made him feel like he was living a hundred years ago, staring out at a Victorian London. Hogwarts would have been much more like any other school then – just with magic. He thought back to his primary school, which felt like another lifetime ago, and tried to add spells into the mix.

Odd.

His glasses suddenly began to lift off of his nose by themselves. He grabbed them, before they got too far, and slipped them back on, turning to Draco.

“What?” he asked.

Draco was sprawled at the writing desk, his wand at his side. “Bored.”

“Go help Hermione, then.” Harry turned back to the window. It was a grey day, considering it was still August.

“No,” Draco said. “She just keeps telling Weasley to stop messing with the lights. If Snape didn’t kill Dumbledore, I would have for ever giving that piece of junk to him.”

Harry paused. The only thing he’d managed to get out of the snitch was the words ‘ _I open at the close_.’ It really did seem as though Dumbledore had left them random things he thought they’d like, and not anything helpful at all.

“Do you think he had a plan?” he asked. “Like does any of it…mean anything?”

“No.” Draco sighed. “I’m not bored enough to discuss _Dumbledore_.”

“What do you want to do?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. He fiddled with a quill in the writing desk, pressing the point into the wood.

Harry turned back to the window. He was supposed to be thinking about the locket – thinking of how to destroy it, but he had been thinking about that for so long with no results. And his thoughts strayed. To how Draco had looked when he had spoken to Kreacher. About the undertone in his voice.

“Draco?” he asked. “Would you…call me Potter like you used to?”

“What?”

“You know, like you hate me?”

Draco looked at him, and raised a thin eyebrow. His eyes looked Harry up and down.

“You want me to roleplay with you?” he asked.

Harry stood, because suddenly his face was warm. Very warm. He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought you were bored.”

“Oh, I am.” Draco stood, rolling his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I can just – turn it on.”

Despite that, he blinked and changed completely. There was a cocky, swaggering air to him, a glint in his narrow eyes. He smirked, but it was that mean smirk – from years ago.

He stepped up to Harry. “ _Potter_.”

Draco pushed Harry’s chest, so that he stumbled backwards. His back hit the wall and suddenly it was hard to catch his breath.

“Well?” Draco pressed against him, looking equal parts loathed by him and attracted to him. And had he always looked at Harry that way? How had he never noticed that? “Cat got your tongue?”

“Uh…” Harry blinked. “No.”

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes and Harry’s heart was _racing_.

“As eloquent as always.” Draco paused, and leant his face closer. “Potter.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry wasn’t sure where it came from, but he saw pink flush up Draco’s neck. Saw his eyes widen slightly. He found himself smirking, taking hold of Draco’s collar. “Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Oh, it’s a wand.” Draco pressed his leg between Harry’s. “With a hex just for you on the end.”

Harry couldn't decide if he liked watching Draco's mouth twist into that scowl more than watch the glittering of his narrowed eyes.

He hadn't answered. He was too busy trying to think of something witty to reply - too busy trying to remember that he was pretending to hate Draco but that was so hard when Draco was - doing this. His mind had been reduced to a single blinking light.

Draco's expression softened. He smiled, as though Harry was something pitiable, and kissed him softly.

"You're awful at this, aren't you?" he murmured, lips still flush against Harry's.

"You're so fit when you do that," Harry murmured back.

"You mean, this?" Draco pulled away, just to glare at him. His hand pressed sharply against Harry's chest. "Potter?"

"Er," said Harry, by way of agreement.

Draco kissed him roughly, so that his head studded against the wood panel behind him. He slipped his tongue into Harry's mouth mercilessly and he could only dig his fingers into Draco's waist to tell him that it was more than welcome.

He hissed when Draco pulled away for just a moment, just to push his leg further between Harry's before pressing his mouth against Harry's neck. He bit down, sharper than he usually did and it made Harry's stomach perform a gymnast's routine.

Harry buried a hand in Draco's hair, pushing it out of his face, his breath loud in his ears.

This was like Paris. This was the kind of intensity that they had kissed each other with there – only it had been every time they were out of the public eye – even if that meant an empty room in the Louvre. (Actually, that had made it more hurried – more frantic and passionate.)

Paris felt like a long time ago now. The last few days had been Harry’s normal life. It had been stressful and life-risking and there was so much of him that was tired – that hated this – that wished he was going back to Hogwarts like everyone else. A normal student.

And yet, there was a horrible feeling of belonging in this chaos. It felt so natural and easy to fall back into. The stress and the worry.

He caught Draco’s mouth in his own, kissing him roughly to try to distract himself, and Draco melted into him.

Then the door flew open.

It was Hermione, who didn’t even avert their eyes as they fought to untangle themselves. Panic had flared in Harry’s chest, but he fell back against the wall at the sight of her. But it wasn’t a member of the Order, or Sirius or Lupin.

“ _Mon dieu,_ Granger – can’t you knock?” Draco’s pale face had turned bright pink, all the way down his neck. Harry thought about kissing it.

“Have you seen the Daily Prophet?” Hermione ignored him and shoved the paper in Harry’s face.

He adjusted his glasses, blinking down at the black letters and trying to form some coherence out of them.

Harry was wanted. For questioning on Dumbledore’s death.

“It’s an outrage!” Hermione was flushed too, clutching the paper so tightly that it trembled. “To think that you had anything to do with it.”

Dumbledore had asked Harry to force the potion down him. That had made him weak.

“We were both seen,” Draco said. “Running from the tower just as Dumbledore fell. Skeeter wrote that a few weeks ago.”

“Because there were _Death Eaters_ there!” Hermione stamped her foot on the floor. “It’s just not fair – that they’re twisting everything around. They’ve gotten hold of the Prophet too, obviously.”

Harry’s heart was still racing from kissing Draco, and it was hard to think – and breathe – properly. He was thankful that Ron came in, looking just as furious, and Lupin, leaning on the doorframe with folded arms.

“Look at page two.” The fury was clear in Ron’s voice.

Hermione read, brows furrowing.

“We’ve got a new Minister. Thicknesse. If he’s not a Death Eater, then he’s under the Imperius curse,” Lupin said.

“Why doesn’t you-know-who just be Minister?” Ron asked.

Draco scoffed. “Because he’s the kind of man who wants power and control without any of the paperwork.”

Lupin nodded. “That’s true. Why would he sit behind a desk all day when he could have a puppet to run the day to day for him? It’s also meant that they’ve kept this coup very silent to the public. And of course, Death Eaters posing as aurors is the perfect excuse to blow any place where Harry’s been seen up, on the grounds of that headline.”

“Privet Drive –”

“Yes, your Aunt and Uncle won’t be happy about that one.” Lupin grimaced. “But I’ve had word from Diggle, and they’ve arrived at the safehouse. It’s protected under a secret keeper.”

“And Tonks’ parents house?” Harry asked.

He was interrupted by Hermione wordlessly handing the newspaper to Draco, her eyes unfocused and staring at the floor.

“Ah.” Draco’s eyes skimmed the paper too. Then he closed it and folded it in half. “It’s a requirement to prove that you have at least a pureblood or half-blood representative now. They want to talk to all of the mud – people with muggle parents, to investigate how they’ve got their power.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“The Ministry still believe that the only way to obtain magic is through a relative,” Lupin explained. “So, think that muggleborns have obtained it illegally.”

“So, what? They invite you into this interview and then arrest you?” Ron demanded.

“Well, yes.” Lupin was looking at Hermione. “I can only assume when they say punishment, they mean Azkaban. At the least.”

“Don’t worry, Hermione – I’ll say that you’re my cousin. I can teach you my family tree –”

He took hold of her shoulders, gripping them as though he could shake some sense into her.

Hermione – finally blinking herself awake – smiled gently at Ron. She peeled his hands off of her, but kept hold of them.

“Ron, we’re with the most wanted wizard in the world right now,” she said. “I don’t think it really applies to me anymore.”

Ron still looked doubtful, and worried.

“You’re also only allowed to attend Hogwarts if you have proven that you aren’t a muggleborn,” Lupin added.

And to his surprise, Hermione gave a shaky laugh. She sat on the window seat, still looking dazed.

Harry stepped forward, to see her better, and to slip his hand into Draco’s. He squeezed his fingers, and Draco squeezed back.

“It’s just – I had an idea, on how to get the basilisk venom,” she said. “But I suppose it’s useless now.”

“What was your plan?” Harry asked.

Hermione smiled. “Sneak into the sorting ceremony as first years.”

Ron sat down next to her, looking at her as though she had suggested kicking a puppy.

“It would have been simple enough with Polyjuice potion,” Hermione said. “Which we’d have enough time to make, if we started now.”

They all paused. Ron frowned at Hermione, then shook his head slowly. “There’s something slightly immoral about stealing children’s hair.”

“You’ve done it before, apparently,” Draco said.

“That was different.” Ron shrugged. “We were twelve, Crabbe and Goyle were twelve – not so weird then.”

“They have all of the first year’s names on paper,” Harry said.

“It would be easy to claim there’s been a mix-up, especially with all of this extra vetting going on,” Hermione said. “And paperwork can be easily forged.”

“Hermione!” Ron looked at her, aghast.

“We’ve been attacked twice by Death Eaters who wanted to murder us and you’re worried about a bit of fraud?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “We’ve broken bigger rules than that.”

“Rules?” Ron echoed. “It’s the law!”

“It’s not exactly like the Ministry are being fantastic right now, are they?” Hermione crossed her arms. “If the government want to act like pigs, then breaking laws is…well, it means nothing.”

“I thought I’d die before I agreed with Granger on anything,” Draco said. “But I have to admit, her plan is better than anyone else’s right now.”

“It doesn’t matter about Hermione’s plan, because none of you are going anywhere,” Lupin said. “You’re all grounded.”

“I wonder if Voldemort will let me use that excuse not to fight him,” Harry said.

Lupin looked away for a moment, taking a breath. But Harry could see his mouth working – he was trying not to smile. Even when he looked back, trying to seem stern, there was something of a twinkle in his eye.

“Enough sass, young man,” he said. Then shook his head. “I’ll never know how you ended up so much like James. It’s uncanny.”

Harry grinned – he couldn’t help it. He knew that James hadn’t been the best as a teenager, but he was still his dad. One of the cleverest students at Hogwarts. And knowing they were similar made it feel like there was a part of him still there.

And that made Sirius and Lupin smile – and despite how they behaved at Hogwarts, after everything they had been through, they deserved to smile. If he could do it, then even better.

*

There was an article in the Daily Prophet about Rita Skeeter’s new book on Dumbledore. Apparently, the Wizarding World liked to publish book chapters in the newspapers before they were released – as if there was going to be anyone who wouldn’t buy it out of love for Skeeter, or hate.

It went into more detail about this mysterious sister of Dumbledore’s. Said that both he and Aberforth – who Harry and Draco had the pleasure of meeting in the Hog’s Head in Harry’s fifth year – said she was “too weak to go to school,” whenever they were asked her whereabouts.

“Do you think he really did that?” Harry asked. He was resting the back of his head on Draco’s chest, lying horizontally across the bed. “Lied about Arianna?”

Draco’s fingers ran through Harry’s curls. “Probably.”

“But this is Dumbledore,” Harry said. “He wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Yes. He would.”

“Just because you don’t like him –”

“Harry, if his sister really was a squib, then yes, it’s not a far stretch to say that he and that angry old codger at the Hog’s Head covered it up. It was the done thing. _My_ parents would have covered it up, if I was a squib…or my father would have drowned me in a river.”

Harry sat then, scrambling up so that he could stare at Draco with wide eyes, the newspaper crumpled beneath his fingers.

“I’m joking.” Draco’s mouth twitched to show it. “I don’t know what you’re looking so shocked about. Where was your bedroom for the first eleven years of your life?”

“That’s what I mean,” Harry said. “How could Dumbledore care about that, but not help his own sister?”

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. Then he sat up, shifting the lump mattress entirely.

“He didn’t care.” Draco’s fingers brushed against the back of Harry’s hand. Tenderly. “You said he addressed your Hogwarts letter to that cupboard. He knew. And he didn’t change it.”

“But after I went to Hogwarts, I was moved into Dudley’s second bedroom,” Harry insisted. “And I only went to Hogwarts because of Dumbledore.”

“No, trouble.” Draco looked down at their hands. “You got your letter because you showed signs of magic. As almost every half-blood does…did he say that those _chochons_ had to change your bedroom?”

It was with a heavy heart that Harry shook his head. No, he realised. Dumbledore had done his job as a headmaster, that was all. In fact, it was probably the only time he hadn’t given Harry special treatment.

But it had been the one time he had needed it.

“Hiding squibs was normal for Wizarding families back then,” Draco continued. He leant his cheek against Harry’s shoulder, but he felt too numb to move back. “It’s only like how being gay stopped being a mental disorder fifteen years ago…I hate to break it to you, Harry, but Dumbledore was probably racist too.”

He couldn’t imagine the Dumbledore that he knew – the man with those kind blue eyes, that comforting voice and heart-warming smile – to be racist. That didn’t seem to match with the ambivalence that Dumbledore had ran Hogwarts with.

But he had also heard the older members of the Order use words they definitely shouldn’t.

“You’re probably right,” he admitted. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. The man he knew was the man they described on the back of a Chocolate Frog card, and he had believed it.

But Dumbledore had been human.

“Hey.” Draco nudged his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean that he was _absolutely_ rotten through.”

Harry could have laughed at that – if they hadn’t been interrupted by the sounds of yelling downstairs.

They bolted from the room and scrambled down the staircase. It was really too narrow to do it at the same time, and they both half-fell at the bottom.

The yelling was coming from the kitchen, and as Harry threw open the door, raising his wand, he paused. There was a tangle of limbs against the wall and that was where the yelling was coming from.

Ron and Lupin were wrestling with one of the figures, and as they pulled, he saw that it was Sirius, pressing Mundungus Fletcher against the wall and snarling like a wolf. It was impressive, Harry had to admit, that he had beaten the man with one hand still wrapped tightly in bandages. Kreacher, who Ron had pushed away with his leg, was grinning and pumping his fist in the air at the sidelines.

“Get him – get him, Master Black!” He cackled.

“Look – I didn’t want to put my life on the line!” Mundungus Fletcher was crying out. “Never agreed to it – never wanted to die and I’ve been clear about that – always very clear about that. And no one ever said that bleedin’ you-know-who would be there! Anyone would have done what I did.”

“Actually.” Hermione was still sat at the table, with _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ in front of her. “No one else disapparated apart from you.”

Mundungus sneered at her, but Sirius immediately pressed him back against the wall. There was a thud.

“I should curse you so thoroughly that you won’t walk for a week for that stunt, Fletcher,” Sirius growled. “But this is about something different. This –” Sirius thudded the man against the wall again. His head lolled. “Is about what you stole from me.”

“You never cared for any of that junk –”

There was a howl at this, and in the next moment a saucepan hit Mundungus’ forehead. He blinked, stunned.

Kreacher was picking it back up off the floor, his face twisted in anger.

“Hold on, Kreacher, we need him conscious,” Sirius said. Then, as an apparent afterthought, added, “good work, though.”

For the first ever, Kreacher and Sirius smiled at each other.

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“I _do_ care about a certain locket. Belonged to my brother.” Sirius shook Mundungus. “Where is it?”

“Why? Is it worth something?”

“So you _do_ have it!” Hermione stood, anger flushing her cheeks.

“No.” Ron shook his head. His grip had loosened on Sirius. “He’s just wondering if he should have charged more for it.”

“Practically gave it away – didn’t I?” Mundungus howled. “Some ministry hag had me cornered – was asking for a warrant – gave her the locket because she took a fancy to it just so that she would leave me alone!”

“What Ministry hag?” Harry asked, stepping forward.

Mundungus’ eyes rolled to Harry, and he reminded him of a particularly baleful bloodhound.

“Some old hag with a bow in her hair,” he said. “Liked pink. Dressed like a toad.”

Harry ran his finger over the scars on his right hand. They had remained white and livid against his skin.

“Umbridge,” he said.

Sirius looked at him. “ _That_ old hag?”

Harry began to nod, then remembered something.

“Hold on,” he said, and _accioed_ for his copy of the Daily Prophet. It whizzed down the stairs, just as Lupin managed to prise Mundungus out of Sirius’ grip. He wormed his way around Lupin, then apparated.

Harry supposed it didn’t really matter. There were Death Eater’s watching the door already and none of them could get in. He’d been using the invisibility cloak to go and get food.

“Here.” He stepped forward, and pressed the paper out on the table. It distracted Sirius from trying to go after Mundungus in a blind rage, though Kreacher was still howling. He flipped through the pages. “She was in here, talking about the new Muggleborn committee.”

He found the picture. One of Umbridge looking very toadlike and satisfied, smiling at the camera. It didn’t move much, for a wizard photo, but he found that even creepier. And there, over her pink cardigan, sat a dark jewel.

“That’s it.” Harry tapped the paper. “That’s the real locket.”

“So you didn’t need to pummel Mundungus half to death,” Hermione said.

“Oh, I did,” Sirius replied. He took the paper, frowning at the picture. “Right. Well, we know where it is. But how do we get to it?”

Harry, surprisingly, had a couple of ideas.

*

“No,” Percy Weasley said.

Ron and Harry were stood in his London flat. It was a hodgepodge of living space and a huge office, with papers and quills everywhere.

“Come on, Perce.” Ron stood in front of his desk.

“I could lose my job,” he replied, looking back down at the paperwork that he was filling out, but not getting any of it done.

“This is about a war, Percy. It’s life and death,” Ron pleaded.

“I’m staying as far out of it as I can.” Percy glanced up, at Harry, and raised his eyebrows. “I could get fired just for not turning you in.”

“Do you really think that I killed Dumbledore?” Harry asked.

“Of course not.” Percy put the quill back. “But I do know that it is your duty to come forward with any information you might have on who did.”

“It was Snape,” Harry said. “Do you see why I can’t say anything?”

“I can understand why that would make it difficult. Well, I like you Harry, but, I’m sorry, I’m not risking my job or my life for you.”

Why did Harry feel strangely relieved at that?

“I can’t believe you.” Ron shook his head, taking his hands off of the desk to fold them over his chest. “First you go and become a Ministry dog, telling me I can’t hang out around Harry –“

“Yes, I became a Ministry dog.” Percy Weasley stood, then, colour rising to his cheeks. “I wanted to work for the Ministry. I always had, because that was what dad did, and I looked up to him. And I wanted to do some good – to give back to the people who protected us when we were kids.”

“What are you on about?” Ron demanded.

“You don’t remember the first wizarding war. But when our parents were off fighting – doing the right thing, of course – I was the one left in charge. Of Fred and George and you. And the Ministry fought to help us. They’d send people round to lend a hand – they protected Dad’s identity – gave us some extra money to help us along. The Ministry was good to us, Ron. And, yes, in recent years, things have been declining, but I thought I might be able to change that.” Percy seemed to take a breath for the first time since he’d spoke. His cheeks were flushed as red as his hair now. “So you can imagine how elated I was when I rose so quickly to Fudge’s side.”

The mention of Mr Weasley, and the first Wizarding war seemed to deflate Ron. He sunk back into a dining room chair, facing Percy.

“And, of course, Fudge only wanted a yes man.” Percy rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, as though it would make the colour in his cheeks subside. “I see that now. I see that he was taking advantage of me because I was young and eager to please and was scared to say no. Because the Ministry had always been good. They were good. So how did my opinion matter because surely _they_ knew what they were doing.”

Percy’s voice had cracked, and no he cleared his throat, taking a moment before continuing. “I don’t know if Mum and Dad could see what was going on. Either way, it wasn’t as though they helped, was it? They just told me I was wrong – made no attempt to understand me – understand the position I was in and how difficult it would be for me to get out of it…how difficult it is for _me_ to get out now.”

Ron was silent. He stared down at the floor, frowning.

Harry thought about Percy’s words. He knew how ecstatic he had been to get that job, so he could only imagine how painful it would have been to have his family not feel the same way. It had only made the valley between them grow bigger.

“You…” Harry cleared his throat. “Must know about the new rules about Muggleborns.”

“Yes,” Percy said. He sat back down, slowly, as though he had aged ten years in the last ten minutes. “I can’t say I agree, can’t say half of the staff agree.”

“Then why isn’t anyone speaking out about it?” Harry asked.

Percy laughed hollowly. “You don’t understand, do you? Of course people have. And when they do, they come back to work the next day singing its praises.”

“The imperius curse?”

“I don’t know.” Percy paused. “I wouldn’t put it past upper management, but it would be taxing to have it on so many people at once. Most likely its threats and bribery. It’s easier to disagree in silence than to be forced into agreeing.”

“No,” Ron said. “It’s better to stand up. Disagree loudly. Leave the Ministry!”

“And do what?” Percy matched his volume. “I quit and then have Death Eaters pounding down on my door the next day.”

“You could come back to the Burrow. Mum would –“

“I would be putting her in even more danger than she is already in.” Percy pinched the bridge of his nose, and his voice cracked again. He took a deep breath, and Harry was sure that his shoulders were shaking in the dim light. “It’s better I stay put. I can protect you all better from where I am. Apparently you have dragon pox right now – I’m the one saying that I’ve visited you and that you’re still unwell. I’m the one burning the paperwork they’re using to try and sue Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes for that U-no-poo stunt. I’m the one making sure Mum’s still being paid Dad’s life insurance because they think she’s working against them and they’re trying their damndest to not get it to her.”

He looked up then, and there was a fire in his dark eyes that Harry couldn’t remember seeing before.

“I’m doing what I was raised to do – protect my family,” Percy spat. “I’m sorry that it doesn’t live up to your ideas of heroism.”

There was a long silence where Harry and Ron could only blink at him. It felt like being told off by a Prefect, and Harry half-expected to be deducted house points.

Then Ron stood on shaky legs.

“I missed you,” he said. And Harry looked away because Ron’s shoulders were shaking too.

Percy’s tone softened. “I miss you too.”

They hugged – awkwardly and briefly – over Percy’s desk.

“I’m sorry about your muggleborn friend, too,” Percy said, as he pulled away. “Although – and don’t say I told you this – paperwork can be easily forged.”

And he pushed some forms over to them, without looking at them. Harry took them, and folded them into his pocket.

Ron nodded. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“Thanks Percy.” Harry gathered his invisibility cloak up. “For – everything.”

Percy shook his head, slowly. “What help?”

They left Percy’s flat, both underneath the cloak. It was starting to become a bit of a squeeze for two people, and they both had to walk in a crouch to hide their feet.

When they were a few streets away – which took an absurdly long amount of shuffling, Ron slipped out of the cloak.

“So much for that plan,” he muttered to the still-invisible Harry. “What now?”

“Maybe Hermione and Percy are right,” he replied. “Maybe paperwork is easy to forge.”

“Hermione said she doesn’t care about the paperwork.”

“Only because it doesn’t matter if her name is cleared.”

A plan was starting to form in Harry’s mind. It wasn’t a Hermione plan – this was risky and he would be asking a lot of everyone.

But didn’t they all keep telling him that they were ride or die on this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): I still get comments on the fanfic I wrote at 12/13 saying I spelt Azkaban wrong and that it's Askaban. (And I'm an ancient 21 now so...) I use Azkaban because that's what's on the spine of my book so...
> 
> But yeah that last scene is mainly inspired by a tumblr post along the same lines. Percy gets tarred with such a strange brush and I wanted to explore that a bit more.
> 
> At least this chapter has a bit more of a drarry scene >u> I hope you're all still enjoying and thank you for all of the comments! Even if I don't reply I do appreciate every single one xx


	7. 7

Hermione’s plan involved Polyjuice potion and stalking Ministry employees to steal their identities. It meant studying the Ministry – a lot of studying and research.

Harry’s plan was a lot quicker. A lot riskier, but it didn’t involve waiting around for a month for Polyjuice potion to brew. It was mid-August now, and the square of grass was full of dry, yellow patches. And Death Eaters. Still watching, but staring straight through the house.

Hermione was flabbergasted by Harry’s plan.

“You want to use me as bait?!” she cried.

They were eating dinner, and Kreacher’s cooking had improved vastly. Whilst he still didn’t like Sirius, the two seemed to be on better terms after the incident with Mundungus.

“I want to create a bunch of contradicting paperwork that means you get sent to Umbridge quickly,” Harry said. “You won’t be bait, I’ll be right behind you in the invisibility cloak.”

“And I suppose me and Draco will sit here twiddling our thumbs?” Ron asked.

“You’re meant to be in bed, with Dragon pox,” Harry said. “And it’s a full moon tomorrow. If anything happens and we overrun, then…”

He let himself trail off. Draco was playing with his soup, looking haggard. Opposite him, Lupin didn’t look much better.

“I thought you were all supposed to be staying in.” Lupin looked up with tired eyes.

“We can’t just sit idle,” Harry replied. “That would be like keeping a large dog in a small cage.”

He looked at Sirius meaningfully. And whilst Sirius didn’t look on board, he was being chipped down.

“They can handle it, Remus.” Sirius went to put his hand over Lupin’s, but pulled away before he did. It was his injured hand.

The bandages had come off yesterday. Half of his palm was gnarled over, looking oddly square without his little and ring finger. His middle finger was scarred so badly that it remained folded over like the neck of a sleeping swan. They had all been trying not to stare at it. The thought still made Harry’s stomach boil with guilt.

But Sirius forced on a grin, taking his hand off of the table. “Besides, I’ll be there. I can be Hermione’s pet. It’ll make everyone sympathetic if she shows up with a three-legged assistance dog.”

“Well, you’d be three footed, not three legged,” Lupin said.

“You’d get more sympathy if we put you in one of those dog wheelchairs,” Ron said.

“I think any disabled dog gets sympathy.” Sirius looked offended.

“And what am I supposed to do when I get sent to Umbridge’s office?” Hermione asked. “Politely ask for her locket?”

“I’ll stupefy her,” Harry said.

“And what if she has guards?”

“I’ll stupefy them too.” When Hermione started to shake her head, Harry added, “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“Even when we get the locket,” Hermione said, helplessly. “How do we destroy it?”

“I’ve been thinking about that too,” Harry said.

“He’s been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Draco said. “It’s been painful to watch.”

“The Shrieking Shack,” Harry continued. “I’ll use the passageway under it, sneak back into the Chamber of Secrets and pick up a Basilisk fang.”

“Not to mention,” Draco said. “That there’s probably another horcrux in the castle. The Dark Lord hid them in significant places, didn’t he? Hogwarts seems a significant enough place. He spent seven years of his life there.”

“He also hid one in a cave he went to when he was eleven,” Harry said. “ _I_ don’t remember where I went to when I was eleven. Well, apart from London Zoo, and that’s only because I set a python on my cousin.”

“Did it bite him?” Draco’s grey eyes glistened at the information.

“No.”

“Pythons don’t bite,” Hermione said. “They squeeze their victims until they suffocate.”

“Did it squeeze him?”

“ _No_.”

“Shame.” Draco shook his head, and continued to play with his soup.

“You forgot that Snape is headmaster,” Sirius said. “He’ll have collapsed the tunnel.”

The only consolation to Snape being Headmaster was that the portrait of Phineas Nigellus upstairs could flit between his office and Grimmauld place. They had been taking it in turns to write various graffiti on the opposite wall, just in case Snape was spying on them. Nigellus was not impressed.

“Then I’ll fly into the Forbidden Forest,” Harry said, desperately.

“I could ask Ginny,” Ron said.

“Yes, that letter won’t be suspicious,” Hermione snapped.

“I was going to write it in _code_.”

“How was she meant to send a basilisk fang back?”

Ron didn’t have an answer.

“Anyway,” Hermione said. “I’ve been doing some research, and anything made by a goblin absorbs substances that make it stronger.” When everyone simply stared at her, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You used the sword of Gryffindor to kill the Basilisk. That means Basilisk venom is in the blade.”

“We don’t know where the sword is, though,” Harry said. “Unless we sneak in and get the Sorting Hat, but even then, it’s better to get the fangs from the Chamber. I don’t think the sword ever took in venom, it would have taken in Basilisk blood.”

“Unless we breed our own Basilisk,” Ron said, with all the exasperation of a man with a brilliant plan, who was never listened to. “ _I’ve_ been doing research, and Herpo the foul figured out how to do it easily enough.”

“It would be good to have a Basilisk on our side.” Draco’s smirk showed he was teasing, but Ron took him seriously.

“Exactly. I know neither can live whilst the other survives, but do you think if you-know-who looked into the eyes of a basilisk it would kill him?”

Not properly, Harry knew. Not unless they destroyed all of the horcruxes first.

*

Hermione agreed to the plan the next day. Still looking exasperated and unsure, but too het up to think of anything else. Though she still kept the Polyjuice potion bubbling – just in case they needed it in the future.

They set off with the half of Harry’s plan. Hermione carried the forged paperwork – they had made sure to muddle up names and places so that the Ministry would be sent on a goose-chase around their office to make sense of them. They’d copied some of the paperwork of the Malfoys, so that one sheet claimed Hermione was a distant relative but the next that she was a half-blood from Shacklebolt’s family, the next admitting that she was Muggleborn. The last was left blank, so that, at the very least, they could buy a minute or two whilst she was made to fill it in.

It was terribly risky, and Hermione could easily be arrested for the muddle with the paperwork on the spot. But she could also be arrested on the spot for ever helping Harry in the first place, so he didn’t think they had anything to lose.

And weren’t the dementors meant to have left Azkaban? If they had, then it actually seemed the safest place to be.

They left out the back of Grimmauld Place, and took a tram then the tube to get to middle London, dog-Sirius accompanying them all the way. He had been right, he had gotten many sympathetic looks and coos when they had realised he was limping along on the stump of a paw.

Sirius looked as though he enjoyed the attention. He panted, and put his head to one side, wagging his tail.

“What if they start asking me about you?” Hermione whispered, as she walked, glancing around as if they would be found out at any moment.

“Lie,” Harry replied, safely hidden in the invisibility cloak.

“I can’t do that!”

“Oh, is that where we’re drawing the line?”

“What I mean is,” Hermione paused, to open up the phone booth that served as the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry. “They might be using truth charms, or _veritaserum_.”

There were people glancing at Hermione, muttering to herself in a phone booth with a dog.

“Then don’t tell the whole truth,” Harry said. “Leave some details out. That’s not lying.”

Even as he said it, he could feel prickles down the scars on his hand. He rolled his eyes. That was just what he needed – another scar to warn him about bad people being near him.

Hermione dialled for the Ministry, shuffling in the small booth. When she told the tinny voice that it was her, coming to submit forms to prove her blood status, there was a silence.

Then, “a security witch or wizard will escort you to your hearing.”

“My hearing?” Hermione echoed.

But they were already gone. Whizzing downwards with such speed that Harry wished he had not had so many hash browns for breakfast.

Hermione clung to Sirius’ collar, looking pale and wide-eyed.

Harry wished he could hold her hand, without making half of hers disappear.

The Ministry was the same as always. And yet it looked different. The black and white marble had somehow gained a cold, threatening air, the floo-stations seemed taller, more looming and there was a certain pinched quality to the worker’s faces that made them look stressed.

Sure enough, there was a dark-haired wizard waiting for them when Hermione stepped out of the phone box. He was tall, well over six foot and powerfully built, with a well-trimmed beard and no sympathy in his eyes.

“Hello.” Hermione’s voice was small.

The man was glancing to dog-Sirius at her side.

“People don’t normally bring their pets,” he said, in a deep voice. “We don’t allow animals inside.”

“Oh!” Hermione put a hand over her mouth. Harry believed she was surprised, until she sighed heavily, and shook her head. “Well, I sent an owl about it two days ago, asking special permission. Don’t tell me that you’ve lost it? Honestly, it’s typical. All the Ministry has ever cared about is Harry Potter – not the letters of anyone with real world concerns.”

Harry bite the side of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. There had been such fury on Hermione’s face – such utter disdain – that the man’s eyebrows had risen almost to his hairline. He blinked, suddenly looking sheepish.

“Well, that’s – that’s not my department.”

Hermione crossed her arms. She looked him up and down and said, “no. I don’t suppose it is. This is an emotional support dog. He has to come with me.”

Dog-Sirius pressed himself against Hermione’s side, looking up balefully.

The man looked at him, and frowned.

“How’s he any help? He’s only got three legs.”

“He’s not _my_ emotional support,” Hermione said. “I’m his. Because he lost one of his paws in a tragic accident.”

The man stared at her. He stared at dog-Sirius, who had started whimpering balefully, his ear back and showing white rings at the bottom of his dark eyes.

Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever. Follow me, all Muggle Born matters are dealt with in the courtrooms.”

He set off, his shoes clacking against the stone floors and his robes swirling around him in a storm of black.

“The courtrooms?” Hermione echoed, following him. She laughed, but it was slightly shrill. The nerves, it seemed, were back. “Surely this is just a matter of paperwork.”

“Paperwork,” the wizard said. “That will be looked over in the courtrooms.”

Hermione nodded meekly, as though he was a teacher who had just told her off.

“And I’ll be taking your wand.” The man held out his hand.

Hermione blinked at it. Her eyes glanced to where Harry stood, invisible, before she complied. She had given him a look that had said ‘I sincerely hope you know what you are doing.’

Then, they followed the wizard across the lobby of the Ministry of Magic whilst Harry’s heart sunk. The old statue was still in tact, but there were wizards dressed in blue scratching their heads at it.

“It’s all very well changing the words to ‘magic is might,’” one said. “But the changes they want to make aren’t very clear, are they?”

“Have muggles underneath it,” his friend said, shaking his head. “How are we meant to make it clear that their muggles?”

“Have them look stupid, the report says.”

“What’s the difference between a stupid muggle and a stupid wizard?”

“One has magic, I suppose.”

Hermione had heard their conversation too, and shuddered. She clutched her paperwork in her trembling hands. Sirius pressed against her harder, as though he really was for emotional support.

They took the elevator, with a pale man who was wringing his hands nervously.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked.

“My wife,” he muttered. “My wife – she’s being questioned today…she might not come home…we have three kids – how am I supposed to – with three kids?”

“Save it, Cattermole.” The man escorting them scowled. “Serves you right for marrying a mudblood.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He felt such outrage at this whole thing – about how Hermione was being frogmarched like a criminal – that he cast the jelly legs jinx on the dark-haired wizard. He stumbled, then collapsed on the floor of the elevator – Harry narrowly avoided being landed on.

As he clambered back to his feet, gripping the rail for support, he glared accusingly at Hermione.

She blinked back at him. “I don’t have a wand.”

So he looked to the pale, nervous man, but he was staring straight ahead muttering to himself.

The wizard had no choice but to glare sullenly at the elevator doors, and wait for them to open. It seemed to move slowly, and Harry was worried that they had done the wrong thing – that this would end up with both of them arrested.

He’d been in the lower floors of the Ministry more times than he would have liked, and he couldn’t help but stare at the black door that led to the Department of Mysteries as they passed it. The image of Mr Weasley, falling through a black veil appeared in his mind, as clear as if it was happening in front of him, and he felt his chest ache. It had been just another time one of Harry’s plans had gone south.

The nervous wizard rushed into the courtroom ahead of them, muttering that he was already late.

The dark-haired wizard with them motioned for Hermione to take a seat, and held out his hand for the paperwork. Her hand shook as she handed it over to him. His eyes, almost obscured by his thick brows, darted over the lines, and narrowed the further on he read.

Then he slipped into the courtroom without a word, but with purpose in his step. He left the door open behind him, and Harry could see a sliver of the cold, dark room that he had been in once before.

“I’m going to slip in,” he whispered to Hermione, who jumped terribly at the sound of his voice. Maybe she’d forgotten he was there. “I’ll be behind Umbridge and I’ll attack from behind if anything happens.”

Hermione nodded. Dog-Sirius nodded. Harry slipped into the courtroom.

The chair with chains still sat in the middle of the room. A small, terrified looking witch was sat on it – it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. There were dementors floating against the back wall of the room. A line of them, watching without faces and twitching their decaying hands. It meant the room was freezing.

The other end of the room looked just as terrifying. Umbridge – yes, the locket hung around her neck – sat on a balustrade, with a man and a woman either side of her. A patronus – a long-haired cat – patrolled the front of the platform, protecting them from the despair of the dementors. Of course, Harry thought – why should they feel anything at this?

The dark-haired wizard who had escorted them was leaning over Umbridge, whispering in her ear. He had Hermione’s papers in his hand, and as he spoke, Umbridge took them with her stubby fingers and looked them over.

Harry darted forward – wishing he could stop and help the witch in the chair, and maybe he could, if he got into position.

He passed the dark-haired wizard, who was hurrying back from the platform, just as Umbridge called, “send her in. Now.”

“B – but what about my trial?” the witch in the chair squeaked.

“It will commence after this one.” Umbridge waved a hand to the dementors. They drifted soundlessly forward, and one took the witch’s arm, dragging her back. She looked about to faint. Harry’s wand dug into his palm – urging him to just cast _expecto patronum_. He could put a stop to all of this right now.

The door opened, and the dark-haired wizard led Hermione, and dog-Sirius in. She barely glanced at the room around her, even though she was still pale and trembling. Even so, she walked with confidence. Brave – Hermione had always been so brave.

“Miss Granger.” Umbridge smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting as though she was welcoming a favourite student back. “Please, take a seat.”

Hermione did. Dog-Sirius sat at her side, and she buried her hand into his fur.

If chocolate worked against dementors, Harry was sure that dogs would too.

“What is that thing with her?” the man next to Umbridge asked.

“A support dog of some kind.” The woman flicked a hand dismissively.

“How sweet,” the witch on her other side muttered. “Look, Dolores, the poor thing is disabled.”

“ _Miss_ Granger.” Umbridge cut across the woman’s cooing. “Where is Harry Potter?”

“I came in to talk about my blood status,” Hermione replied.

“And I would like to discuss the Undesirable number one, Harry Potter.” Umbridge leant back in her chair, looking satisfied. “I know that you were one of his closest friends. Where is he?”

Hermione stared at the podium, and Harry wondered if she was searching for any sign he was there. She’d never been good at lying to teachers, but he hoped that she would be able to now. Both their lives seemed to be at stake.

“He was at my friend Ron’s brother’s wedding a few weeks ago,” Hermione said.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“I did not ask where he was. I asked where he is. Now. At this moment.”

Harry smiled. Hermione did not even need to lie. Not if she was clever.

And Hermione Granger was a clever witch.

“Well, I don’t know where he is at this moment,” she replied. “I know that he was talking about going to Paris. Have you tried there?”

“Yaxley.” Umbridge turned to the wizard next to her, who nodded, and began scribbling something down on parchment. Moments later, a memo flew off of the desk and out of the courtroom. “I knew that you were different from him, Miss Granger. Maybe my lesson to him sunk into you too. You must not tell lies, you know.”

“Yes, I think Harry mentioned something like that.” Hermione scratched dog-Sirius’ ear, and though she still looked terrified, there was an angry glint in her eye. “Of course, he told you that Voldemort was back and he was proven to be right at the end of the year, wasn’t he?”

Umbridge stayed silent for a moment. The witch and wizard either side of her had sucked their teeth at the mention of Voldemort’s name.

“Anyway.” Umbridge shuffled the papers in front of her together. An angry look appearing on her own face. “It seems here that there are several things out of order with your paperwork, Miss Granger.”

Hermione gasped. “Surely not – I – I was very careful to fill it out as truthfully as I could.”

“In question three, you insinuate that you are a very distant relative of Herpo the Foul.”

The witch gasped. “Is that true, Miss Granger?”

“I was being as truthful as I could,” Hermione replied. “I traced my family history all the way back, and well – it’s not impossible that he’s a very _very_ distant relation.”

“And yet it also says that you are Draco Malfoy’s cousin, is that correct?”

The chains on the chair twitched, and Hermione shuffled.

“Oh, how silly of me.” Her voice sounded thin now. “I – I meant to say Weasley. Ron Weasley.”

“Miss Granger.” Umbridge slammed her hands down on the desk, and her multiple rings made a nasty thud against the wood. “What is the blood status of your parents?”

Hermione took a breath. “I exercise my right to remain silent. No comment.”

Umbridge smiled widely. “A wand was taken from you, on your arrival today. Ten and three quarter inches, vinewood with a dragon heartstring core. Do you recognise that description?”

“Yes.” Hermione’s hand clenched in Sirius’ shaggy fur.

“Which witch or wizard did you steal it from?”

“What?” Hermione just stared.

“A wand will only choose a witch or a wizard, Miss Granger. You are not a witch, and so you must have taken it from one.”

Hermione laughed. It was a hollow laugh that rung off of the stone walls, and made the dementors glide forward slightly.

“Yes, a wand will only choose a witch or a wizard,” she said. “And if any other witch or wizard uses a wand that is not theirs, then it won’t work for them. How do you propose that I gained nine outstandings and one exceeds expectations in my exams if I had a stolen wand?”

“She – she is right about that, Dolores,” said the little witch with flyaway grey hair. “That wand shouldn’t work for her at all, if it wasn’t hers.”

“I don’t propose to know how muggleborns are stealing wands,” Umbridge spat. She stood, though it did little to improve her height. “I do, however, intend to find out.”

She waved a hand, and the dementors moved further forward.

“You shall tell me, Miss Granger, or I will have to resort to less savoury methods.”

The dementors grew closer, and Harry could see Hermione start to tremble violently. Wrong – this had all gone so very wrong. Their messy paperwork hadn’t been passed from person to person, it hadn’t distracted Umbridge very long – and Hermione’s sheer bravery – her need to share her knowledge – was the very thing that had caused Umbridge to lose her temper.

It was time for plan B.

Only plan B was improvise. Harry would have to do something very stupid.

The dog beat him to it. In the next moment, Sirius was transforming back. He waved his hands in the air, yelling, “look! It’s me! Sirius Black!”

Umbridge screeched and the witch and wizard either side of her gasped.

Harry took the opportunity to shout, “ _stupefy_!” and Umbridge fell to the floor.

Again, the witch next to her gasped and backed away, her wide eyes searching for the apparent ghost.

The wizard, however, had already pulled out his wand, and was firing at Sirius.

He dodged the first two nimbly, just as Hermione pulled out his wand from the waistband of her trousers and tossed it to him. They were both backing away from the fast approaching dementors. At the sight of Sirius, they rustled and seemed excited. He was the one who got away, after all, and they hadn’t forgotten.

“ _Expecto patronum_!” Sirius cast - wand in his non-dominant hand, desperately, but only a thin wisp of white came out of his wand. He stared at it, stricken. 

Harry kicked the wizard shooting at the two of them in the shins, so that he fell forward, and raised his wand to the dark haired wizard. “ _Expelliarmus_.”

Both of the wands the man had flew across the room. Harry could feel the cold of the dementors now, seeping into him. Bringing back the memories of his fifth year – of the department of mysteries.

Hermione scrambled across the floor to her wand, whilst the wizard Harry had kicked leapt blindly at him, knocking him off of his feet and sending him tumbling to the floor. They grappled with each other, and Harry heard Hermione casting her patronus. There was a sharp pain on the back of his head as he hit the stones. He was stuck under the man – pinned to the floor – and he wasn’t as strong. Couldn’t push him off.

The man uncovered Harry’s face, and his jaw slackened as he realised who he was.

Harry took the opportunity to knee the man in the groin.

At the same time, a hand punched the side of the man’s face. Knocking him to the side and sending him sprawling across the floor.

Sirius was standing over Harry. He kicked the man again. “Get away from my son.”

Harry did not have time to think – but suddenly it felt less cold in the room. He scrambled over to Umbridge, yanking the locket from her neck.

He looked up to see Hermione duelling frantically with the dark haired wizard. But the dementors were sweeping ever closer.

Harry cast his patronus out too – realising what Sirius had said. Son. His chest burst with warmth.

The stag came out whiter than usual and knocked three dementors back at once with its horns. They staggered away from Hermione, just as she screamed, “ _petrificus totalus!”_

The dark haired wizard fell to the floor.

“He saw me.” Harry nudged the wizard Sirius had knocked out, gathering up his invisibility cloak. “We should erase his memory.”

“There’s no time.” Sirius was staring at the dementors. He grabbed Harry’s arm. “No one would believe him anyway.

The dementors turned their attention on Sirius as they ran to the door – Hermione joining them, out of breath with her hair in a wild cloud around her face. At least they had let the witch they had been holding go. Harry glanced back, seeing her husband picking her up through the silvery side of his patronus.

Chill made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He felt as though there was a scabby hand, reaching out – gnarled fingers ready to grab the back of his shirt and –

They were through the door and Hermione slammed it behind them. Safe, Harry thought, unless dementors could figure out how to turn the handle. The three of them turned, and started down the hallway –

Just to find themselves face to face with a line of hooded, robed figures.

“Death Eaters!” he cried.

“But how?” Hermione asked. “We didn’t apparate!”

“Doesn’t matter – cast shields!” Sirius yelled.

Harry did, pressing his cloak and the locket to his chest, just as Sirius pointed at the wall to their left and yelled, “ _reducto!”_

It shattered. Rubble bounced off of the silvery light of his and Hermione’s spells, and dust filled the air. It obscured them from the Death Eaters.

Sirius was tugging the both of them through the hole he had just created and into the next corridor. They ran, all too aware of the chill on their backs – the chill closing in around them.

“We can’t apparate in the ministry,” Hermione panted. “We have to get to the entrance – and even then they’ve probably sealed it shut, now that the two most wanted wizards are in here.”

“At least I’m more wanted than Sirius now,” Harry said.

Sirius laughed, and it helped to fight the fear that was threatening to engulf him. He wanted to go back, actually, to hear Sirius call him son again.

They came to an elevator and Hermione managed to get override the controls. They had perhaps a minute to catch their breaths.

“It was a silly thing to do,” Hermione said. “To reveal yourself like that, Sirius.”

“What’s the worst they can do?” Sirius was bent over, breathing heavily. “They’ll want information about Harry so they won’t use the dementors kiss yet. They’d only torture me…and I can live with torture.”

“You’re mad,” Hermione shook her head.

Harry was watching the numbers of the elevators change. “And an animagus…Sirius, turn back. I’ll put the invisibility cloak on –”

“And we’ll just walk out of here?” Hermione asked, as Harry slipped the locket into his jeans and disappeared. On her other side, Sirius turned back onto a shaggy dog.

“Exactly,” Harry said, as the doors opened.

The Ministry was in pandemonium. Anyone who wasn’t running, or shouting in a corner, was walking purposefully with their wands out.

Hermione started forward, smoothing down her messy hair and walking quickly. Harry pressed himself behind her so that no one bumped into him.

No one paid them any attention. They were looking for Sirius Black and Harry Potter – not a girl and a dog. The walk to the elevators went smoothly.

Too smoothly.

They were nearly there when a voice yelled, “that’s her! The one with Potter!”

It was the female wizard who had been sat next to Umbridge, her face covered in dust, but still bright red.

The Ministry officials and lingering Death Eaters turned to the three of them, almost as one.

Hermione shook from head to toe.

Harry took her arm, not caring if half of it disappeared, and pulled her over to the floo grates.

Everyone seemed to be running towards them.

Dog-Sirius took the tray of floo-powder in his teeth and scattered it in the grate.

“Home!” Harry roared as the green flames seared up around them.

The three of them turned. The faces pursuing them blurred into faceless orbs.

And then disappeared entirely.

*

Harry fell out of the gate at Grimmauld Place. The invisibility cloak caught on the grate, and uncovered him as he did.

Hands caught his shoulders, pulling him away and to his feet.

It was Draco. Looking at him, completely shocked for a moment. Then, he smirked.

“Never could deal with floo powder, could you Potter?”

Harry couldn’t reply. He realised he was trembling, so badly that it felt as though his bones would just crumble into dust. At the time, he hadn’t realised the full effect of the dementors, the full terror that he had felt. His heart was still racing.

The only thing he could do was latch his mouth against Draco’s, and kiss him. It brought warm back to his lips, and he went to bury his hands in Draco’s shirt, but Draco pushed his shoulders away.

“You’re a mess right now and I’m not getting myself covered in soot and dust,” he said.

Harry smiled, and looked around at the familiar living room. The sun was shining softly through the window, creating particles of dust floating through the air. Never had Grimmauld Place looked so comfortable, so inviting.

Hermione was pressed flush against Ron, and his face was buried in her hair, whilst Lupin helped Sirius to his feet.

“We didn’t expect you back so soon,” Lupin said. He squeezed Sirius’ hands – both, without hesitating. “What happened? Did something go wrong?”

“Yes!” Hermione cried. “Everything went wrong! If we had gone with my plan –”

“We would still have had to corner Umbridge,” Harry said. He wrapped an arm around Draco’s side. It seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright, and wherever they touched seemed to chase the chill of the dementors away. “She was wearing the locket, Hermione.”

“We could have ambushed her on her lunch break,” Hermione replied. “And obliviated her so that she would be none the wiser. Now – now everyone knows that you were at the Ministry, and they saw Sirius –”

“What?” Lupin dropped Sirius’ hands to fold his arms over his chest. “I thought you were supposed to stay a dog.”

“Things didn’t go to plan,” Sirius said. “I improvised.”

“But – we got the locket.” Harry pulled it out of his jeans, grinning. That was when he realised his lip was sore. It was split lip. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.

Draco caught it, pulled it away, and pulled him to the sofa. “Here, you.”

He was pulling out his wand as Hermione said. “And Harry used floo powder to send us _home_.”

Draco murmured a healing charm under his breath and Harry’s mouth tingled.

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” Ron asked. “I mean, it’s not like he said where we were.”

Draco ran his thumb over Harry’s newly repaired lip, his eyes glittering.

“Oh…no,” he whispered.

“What?” Harry replied. Had sudden visions of his lip shrinking or swelling.

“Made a clean spot.”

“-With Sirius.” Harry tuned back into Hermione’s voice. “It won’t take long for them to find out that Sirius still owns this house. That Harry’s living with Sirius. That this is where we are.”

“The house is still hidden.” Lupin spoke calmly. “But, Hermione’s right. It wouldn’t be wise to stay here any longer.”

Harry kissed the pad of Draco’s thumb, then forced himself to pay attention. (How could he when Draco made him feel so warm and safe?)

“We should split up,” he said.

“I said I’m not letting any of you out of my sight,” Lupin replied.

“No, he’s right.” Sirius was looking at him, his gaze calculating. “Moving in such a large group will be difficult. We’ll need more supplies and we’ll draw attention to ourselves. Especially with two werewolves among us.”

The word settled in the air around them.

“Especially when one…” Sirius trailed off, at Lupin’s sharp look, and shook his head. “They’ll be fine, Lupin.” Sirius reached out and took his hand. “They’ve been through worse.”

“I’d rather take on the spiders again than go camping,” Ron muttered.

There was a long moment where the two men stared at each other. Harry took Draco’s hand, because he needed to hold something familiar.

Finally, Lupin sighed.

“We need to move quickly then, and be out of here by tonight.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Home. He had called this place home. And it had felt like home, for the last year – almost two. The only place, aside from Hogwarts, that he’d really used that word for.

Now they had to leave it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): The statue in the ministry is so over the top and cartoonishly eViL that it's kind of laughable...it's like Daenerys suddenly doing THAT in Game of Thrones...Honestly this whole part is written so DO YOU GET IT?? EVIL!! BAD!
> 
> But yeah. Thanks for all of the comments on this. This didn't have a lot of shippy scenes but - next one will. x


	8. Chapter Eight

Hermione was packing frantically. She seemed to be doing her best to make the phrase “everything but the kitchen sink,” a reality.

“I feel so underprepared,” she said, tossing an old snuffbox into her handbag.

Ron caught Harry’s eye, and raised his eyebrows. Harry had to look away, biting his cheek.

“If only we could have stopped off at Diagon Alley – we could have brought ingredients and food and –” she continued. “And we can’t use Polyjuice potion, because we’d have to get the money out of Harry’s bank account and they wouldn’t let us in. They’re bound to be monitoring that, anyway.”

She looked at Harry accusingly, as though he was deliberately being difficult.

“I can’t help being Undesirable number one,” Harry said. He had to admit that the sound of that was better than ‘the chosen one.’ There was a lot less to live up to.

“You’re the desirable number one in my book.” Draco turned Harry’s head to kiss him. For a moment longer than was necessary.

“You can decide what to do about your –furry situation, then,” Hermione snapped, her cheeks red.

Draco pulled away from Harry, and didn’t answer. He frowned down at the window ledge they were perched on, a shadow over his face.

“We’re headed to Hogwarts aren’t we?” Harry said. “Draco can use the Shrieking Shack.”

Hermione shook her head. “He’ll tear it apart – Lupin nearly did, and that was with a deer and a hound keeping him in check.”

“We have enough potion for two months,” Ron said, firmly. “Why don’t we see if we can survive them, before worrying about that?”

There was a muted silence from the group. Harry looked to Draco, but he was staring out of the window with his brows furrowed. He knew the wolfsbane potion had been a point of contention. That Lupin had forced it into Draco’s hand and said he was the one who needed it more.

Draco had tried to protest – his face looking pinched and worried. But, Sirius had grinned and hooked an arm around Lupin’s shoulders, declaring, “he could still fight off that softy if he only had one paw left.”

Lupin had rolled his eyes. Still refused to let Draco share the potion.

“Besides.” Sirius nudged Lupin with his shoulder. “Wolfsbane suppresses certain – ah – urges, right?”

Draco’s cheeks went crimson immediately, and Lupin jabbed Sirius sharply.

“What?” Harry blinked.

“Harry’s a big enough boy to understand now, Moony,” Sirius said. His face was sober now and he seemed to exchange a conversation with Lupin in a single glance.

Lupin sighed. But he still took Harry’s shoulders, steering him over to the kitchen table. Harry perched on the edge of it, his heart racing. Just what was it they weren’t telling him.

Sirius and Draco were murmuring to themselves, looking over the potion.

Lupin sat next to Harry and took a breath. His face was flushed, and it made the thin, pale scars stand out all the more.

“Wolves – and werewolves – give out pheromones. There are certain – pheromones that I give off as a wolf that I do not give out as a human.” He was speaking slowly, watching Harry’s face closely for any twitch of movement.

Harry remained blank.

“Pheromones that affect _males_ ,” Lupin added.

It took another moment before the penny dropped and he understood Lupin’s implication.

“Oh,” he said. “Is that it?”

It was Lupin’s turn to look completely and utterly blank. He stared at Harry, clearly expecting more of a reaction.

But Harry could only smile slightly. “It’s not as weird as you going from my teacher to my godfather’s boyfriend.”’

Which made Lupin laugh. Really laugh. The first proper laugh Harry had seen from him in days. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and squeezed it, still sparkling with a relieved sparkle in his eyes.

“You sound exactly like Lily.”

A burst of warmth flew through his chest.

“Really?”

“You’re as much your mother as your father, Harry.” And Harry hadn’t realised how much he had needed to hear that. Because his mother was good and kind whilst his father’s history was spotty. “As much as Sirius would think otherwise.” He paused then, patting Harry’s shoulder, before releasing it. “What he meant was that without wolfsbane, dominance will play on Draco’s mind. Don’t be surprised if he suddenly becomes very possessive of you in two months time.”

Which was, actually, the worst part of that talk. It was Harry’s turn to turn red and look at the floor.

Wolfsbane was going to be a priority to find.

*

Ten minutes later, they were all in the living room, ready to leave. It felt like years ago that Harry, Hermione and Sirius had stood there, getting ready to leave for the Ministry of Magic and not this morning.

“We still don’t know if apparating is safe,” Sirius said. “The Ministry could have contacted the Death Eaters as soon as they saw Hermione arrive. Or heard that we were there.”

“Surely they’ll be watching the floo network too,” Hermione said.

Luipn shook his head. “The house is still under protection. They won’t be able to track where you came from, only where you go. And they’ll be expecting us all to move from here as soon as they figure out that’s where Sirius went.”

“Do you know where you’re going?” Sirius asked.

Harry spoke before Hermione. “The Hog’s Head.”

They all stared at him. He hadn’t even known he was thinking of it, before he said it.

“The man there – it’s Aberforth, Dumbledore’s brother – he helped me and Draco in our fifth year get to and from Malfoy Manor,” Harry said, his mind catching up with his mouth. “He’d help us again, I’m sure of it.”

Ron and Hermione were gawping at him. He wondered if he’d ever explained that part to them, but he couldn’t feel guilty. He’d hidden a lot of things then. Not out of spite, but out of fear. They’d been friends for so long – were so dear to him – that he hadn’t wanted any risk to that.

Sirius and Lupin exchanged looks. Between twitches of their eyebrows, they seemed to have an entire conversation. Then Sirius sighed, and pushed his hair off of his face.

“Keep your faces covered,” he said. “Don’t talk to anyone but him –”

“We won’t,” Harry said.

“Be safe,” Sirius finished.

Harry nodded. His heart chest hurt – it felt as though there was something in it, exploding from the inside. This could be it. He was all too painfully aware that this could be the last time that he saw Sirius and Lupin. The last time that he would be in Grimmauld Place.

Sirius seemed to realise too. He stepped forward, and hugged Harry tightly. That hurt his ribs from the outside too, as he clung to the man. His Godfather. What would it have been like, to be hugged by Sirius when he was a child? To have grown up with this man instead of with the Dursleys?

It was too painful to think about for long. Would only make him feel sorry for himself.

Harry stepped away. He hugged Lupin, who looked more pale and worried than ever, as Sirius enveloped Ron and Hermione at once.

“For the record,” Hermione said, in a small, choked voice. “You make a very good emotional support dog, Sirius.”

Sirius smiled, but his eyes were just a little too shiny. “I’ll keep it in mind as a back-up career.”

Draco’s face was make to being pale and pained as he said goodbye to Sirius and Lupin. His hand slipped into Harry’s as they stepped into the grate. It was a squash with all four of them, but comforting, in a strange way. He was surrounded by bodies and warmth – the bodies of people who loved him and were on his side.

He opened his mouth to say that he would see Sirius and Lupin soon, but no sound came out.

Instead, it was Ron who threw the powder down and yelled, “the Hog’s Head!”

The last thing he saw before the green flames swallowed everything, was Sirius and Lupin, staring grimly into the fire.

*

The Hog’s Head was empty, save for a single customer at the far end of the bar, with their robe pulled low over their face.

They were all wearing hoodies, and Harry had a scarf too, even though it was still much too hot for that. Nevertheless, he felt vulnerable being outside without the invisibility cloak, and itched to put it on again.

Draco was the one who stepped out of the grate first, tugging Harry behind him. Hermione followed, murmuring _muffliato_ at the lone figure. Ron came last, glancing at the door as though it was about to be kicked down by the Ministry.

Draco strolled past the end of the bar, past the many glass bottles on the back wall, and up the wooden flight of stairs without hesitating. Harry followed – they had been behind the bar a lot to pay their way to Malfoy Manor.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to do this?” Hermione hissed.

“He’ll be overjoyed to see us,” Draco replied, looking over his shoulder.

As soon as he said it, the door in front of them swung open with a bang. Aberforth Dumbledore stood there, staring at them with his electric blue eyes. Were Dumbledore had always seemed white to Harry, Aberforth seemed grey. Instead of kind, his eyes always seemed angry.

The man took them in, then pointed a figure inside the apartment.

Harry pulled Hermione and Ron in behind him and Draco, just as the man slammed the door again. He cast several charms under his breath, and Harry hoped that they were charms to disguise their sound and not to look them in.

“What are you doing here?” Aberforth thundered.

Protective charms, then, if he felt safe yelling like that.

“We needed somewhere to go,” Harry said. “Somewhere safe.”

“My foolish boy, there are dementors patrolling the streets night and day waiting for you to appear.” Aberforth slapped one of the spindly tables in the room. “Not to mention the Death Eaters!”

“No change from where we were before, then,” Harry snapped.

Aberforth took a breath, pointing his finger at Harry. For a terrible moment, he thought that he was going to cast some kind of wandless magic on them, from the look in his eyes. But then he shook his head, slowly, and brought his hand down.

“They’re coming in here,” he said. “They use this place to trade potions and poisons.”

“And you aren’t reporting them?” Hermione asked, shrilly. Her hand clutched Harry’s arm, so tightly that he could feel her nails through his hoodie.

“Who to?” Aberforth asked. He sat down, slowly and heavily, in an arm chair opposite the empty grate. “Ministry? They’d just as soon lock me up and put someone who’ll keep their mouth shut in charge of the place.”

They four of them exchanged looks. Aberforth had not kicked them back out onto the street, and yet he had hardly welcomed them in.

“We won’t stay long,” Draco said, finally, stepping forward. “We’re only on our way through to Hogwarts.”

“Bit of a change in you since the last I saw.” Aberforth looked over Draco with a critical eye. Harry was sure that he was remembering the revulsion Draco had at being asked to work here. “Hard work did your manners some good.”

“Being a disgrace to my family and sent into hiding did me some good.”

Aberforth nodded at that, slowly. “The pureblood curse. The name means everything, but the more you fight for it, the more it stays just a name.” He paused, looking into the empty grate. “Hogwarts, you said? What, are you going to start your term there?”

Aberforth chuckled, as though that was a good joke. “My advice is to set out in the morning, go north – into the hills. Hagrid’s up there, with his half-brother. They tried to arrest him a few days ago.”

“No, we have to go to Hogwarts,” Harry said. He stepped forward too, and lowered himself onto the squashy sofa, getting as close as he could to Aberforth. “There’s something we’re looking for there. Something your brother told us to find.”

“I see.” Aberforth leant back in the chair, looking at the portrait over the fire. It was a young girl, blonde with piercing blue eyes, smiling kindly at the space over their hands. “My brother has given you a quest, has he?”

“Well –” Harry realised his mistake – Albus Dumbledore had never been someone they could see eye to eye on. Although he was starting to change his mind about that. “Sort of. We’ve got to –”

“Got to?” Aberforth asked. “Is that what he said? Got to? I’ll wager this is a simple, easy task, isn’t it? Something a seventeen-year-old can handle?”

Draco had edged over too, and sat next to Harry. “No.”

“Sounds just like him.”

“How dare you!” Hermione cried. “We’re all of age and Dumbledore explained it very clearly. It _has_ to be Harry!”

“You’re seventeen!” Aberforth roared, standing. Ron took Hermione’s arm, and pulled her back a step. “Of age or not you are children! You say Dumbledore explained it very clearly – did he tell you the truth – the absolute truth?”

He was staring at Harry now. And so much of him wanted to say ‘yes.’

But Dumbledore had left them with cryptic clues and no way of destroying the horcruxes once they found them.

Draco opened his mouth, but Harry held up a hand. He looked at Aberforth.

“No, he didn’t,” he said. “But this is the only way to win the war.”

Aberforth raised his eyebrows. Then sank back into his chair.

Ron and Hermione crept closer, until Hermione was standing behind Harry’s seat, and Ron was perched on the arm of the sofa.

“You can stay. For the night,” Aberforth mumbled. “Just because the missy still has half a wall in her hair.”

Hermione flushed, and began to comb the plaster and dust from her hair, getting her fingers tangled in the process.

“But I recommend taking care of your own life first,” Aberforth continued.

“Believe me.” Draco took Harry’s hand. “I’ve already tried to get him to safety, but he’s too stubborn to keep away.”

“It doesn’t matter where we go,” Harry said. “He will keep looking for us, as long as he believes that he has to kill me.”

There was silence, and Harry thought those words should have carried more weight to him than they did. But he was used to being hunted, by now.

“There is a way we don’t have to go to Hogwarts,” Ron said. “I mean, we can look for the sword.”

“The sword?” Aberforth’s bushy eyebrows came together.

“Ron!” Hermione hissed.

Ron ignored her. “We need the sword of Gryffindor. It was last in Dumbledore’s office. Harry said your Dumbledore’s brother.”

“They don’t speak much, anymore, Weasley,” Draco said in an undertone.

“Well, you could have mentioned that beforehand.”

Aberforth shook his head again, slowly, sighed, and did not reply. He stared again at the painting over the empty hearth.

“She’ll take you to Hogwarts, when you’re ready,” he eventually said. “No doubt Snape’s got all the passages blocked up – and with the Carrows as his deputies…well, I have no idea how you’re planning to get anything in or out.”

“Wait a moment,” Hermione said. “You mean terms already started?”

“Few days ago.”

The four of them looked at each other in astonishment. Harry had thought that it was still August, but without needing to get on the Hogwarts express, he had lost track of the days. It was the first year in a long time that he hadn’t been on that train, and now he ached for it.

He ached for the days that the world seemed so simple.

*

Aberforth left them around the hearth as he went downstairs to tend to the bar. Hermione sank onto the very edge of the armchair, rubbing her face with the heel of her palm.

“We’d better decide who’s going,” Ron said, suddenly. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense if all four of us go.”

Harry hadn’t even thought that far.

“Are you volunteering?” Draco asked.

Ron scratched his ear, his cheeks going crimson. “Yes, actually.”

“I’ll go,” Harry said. “Ron, you’re meant to be home with dragonpox.”

“I’m not leaving my sister in there,” he replied, frowning.

Harry almost laughed. “It’s Ginny – she’d do more damage to you for thinking that she can’t handle herself.”

“You don’t think she’s in danger?” Ron snapped. He stood and started to pace the floor in front of the fireplace. “You don’t think that she’s a target for Death Eaters and Slytherins – no offence Draco – because of her connection with you? Because she’ll be labelled a blood traitor? Because she’s _gay_?”

“Of – of course it won’t be easy,” Harry said. He felt a rising anger, too, and he saw Hermione wince at his tone out of the corner of his eye. “Do you think it was easy for me?”

“This isn’t about you. It’s not _always_ about you!”

“I didn’t mean –” Harry broke off, taking a breath, but there was a familiar fury in him. The kind he had in his fifth year. “Ginny’s a skilled witch. She’s strong and she’s clever and she’s capable.”

“So you’re not worried about her?” Ron stopped, staring at Harry with his blue eyes ablaze. “She’s my _family_ , Harry. I thought she was yours too.”

“She _is_!” Harry stood without meaning to. “And of course I’m worried about her, but –“

“But you think she’ll be fine because _you_ were fine.”

The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. His last year at Hogwarts had been full of people glaring at him, shifting away, whispering and muttering. Not because the prophet was printing lies about him, but because he was dating a boy. He remembered the names that he told himself didn’t matter – that he had pretended to ignore whilst they chipped away at him. He remembered the cold fear of being seen touching Draco that he had tried to stand up to by demanding that they come out and face it head on.

“ _I was not fine!”_ The words roared out of him – a year and a half of fear and hurt and anger directed solely at Ron, who stumbled back, as though they carried a weight to them.

There was a moment of absolute silence. Harry dimly remembered the muffliato charm, and wondered just how much it was capable of silencing. Not that it mattered now.

Ron’s face as pale. He opened his mouth several times, as though he was about to explain himself, but no sound came out.

In the end, it was Draco who stood, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder to push him numbly down to the sofa.

“ _Mon dieu,_ ” he said. “Potter was trying to comfort you by saying, rightfully so, that your sister is more than capable of fighting her own battles. And Weasley was trying to get you to remember that you need to take this seriously and understand everyone is worried about everyone right now.”

Again, there was a silence, as both Harry and Ron avoided each other’s eye. It was spot on, Harry realised, and he felt guilt curl inside him at being so reluctant to leave Sirius and Lupin. After all, Ron had left his family without a complaint and hadn’t mentioned it since.

“Now, if Weasley’s volunteering to go, then he should –”

“I’m going too.” Harry looked up at Ron. He received a small nod in reply. That was an apology – as much of an apology as they could ever give each other.

“No – that’s too dangerous,” Hermione said. “Only one of you can fit under the cloak.”

“I’ve already got an idea,” Ron replied. “Have you still got the Dumbledore’s Army coin?”

“Well, somewhere.” Hermione reached for her bag. “But I don’t see what that’s got to –”

“We’ll contact the DA through that,” Ron said. “And there’s bound to be an invisibility cloak or potion or whatever somewhere in the Room of Requirement. But it doesn’t matter, because we’ll be moving around the castle at night – no one should see us anyway.”

Harry could see the outline of Ron’s plan. “And the DA can set up some trouble to distract the teachers.”

“Nothing too dangerous,” Ron said. “They only need to distract Filch – and the Carrows, if they’re sneaking around.”

“Of course.”

It was clear that Hermione still didn’t approve, from the glares that she was giving them. She mumbled that it would be easier to just get the DA to get the Basilisk fang and meet them there anyway, but gave in under Ron and Harry’s relentless approval of the plan.

Harry thought the deciding factor was that Draco also disproved of it. She changed her mind quickly, just so that they weren’t in agreement. That made it three to one, so the plan was approved.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Draco asked, as they sat down in the evening. “Sit here and twiddle my thumbs whilst you try your best to get yourself killed? Again?”

The fire had been lit, and it made the whole room feel safe and warm. Ron and Hermione were already in sleeping in the spare room, but Harry had insisted on staying up, at least until he was sure Draco would be safe for the night. And Aberforth was downstairs, tending the bar. They were alone.

Harry took Draco’s hand, but he felt – awkward somehow. There had not been much time for kissing lately and he was out of practice at this. At them.

“If you got found,” Harry spoke slowly, not wanting to say the words aloud. “Then you have a lot more to lose than us.”

“If you’re caught, you’ll be handed over to the Dark Lord and killed,” Draco said. “Granger will no doubt receive the Dementor’s kiss for being a mudblood, and Weasley would be tortured for your – for the order’s whereabouts.”

“But –”

“What more can they take from me?” Draco asked. The firelight cast flickering shadows on his pale skin. “I’m half-human.” Harry tried to protest, immediately, but Draco put a finger over Harry’s lips. He smiled slightly – sadly – at him, grey eyes glittering in the dim light. “And I know you don’t think that matters but it does. It does to people. You saw what happened to Lupin when people found out. The same will happen to me.”

Harry caught Draco’s hand. Twisted it so that he could run his lips over his knuckles.

“Things might change. We’ll make things change, after the war.”

Draco’s eyes held pity in them. He looked sad. Sad and exhausted and nothing at all like he was in Paris.

“The wars not a magical spell. Things won’t just change overnight, even if there is an after.”

He pulled his hand out of Harry’s grip, gently, then leant back on the sofa.

“My father’s disowned me. He said that – that he didn’t count me as a son any longer. Managed to time it with the –” Draco’s hand gripped his forearm. Over the scars there. Harry suspected that it was not the bite that hurt the worst, that night. “And my mother is missing. Will remain missing. So – what more can they take from me?”

His grey eyes found Harry’s, reflecting the flames. And now the melancholy was gone. Draco’s gaze was soft, but there was resolve in his face.

“Except you.”

Harry couldn’t reply. There was too much in him and it was too hard to talk around the ball in his throat. He folded forward, against Draco’s shoulder, his arms snaking around his waist. It was because of him. All of that misfortune was because of Harry Potter.

“All I do is ruin everything.” Harry realised. “I’ve ruined your life, and Mad-Eye’s dead because of me – so many people are dead –”

“Hey.” Draco pulled away. Caught Harry’s chin with his fingers and forced him to look up. “No. I’ve told you, haven’t I? You saved me from my father. From getting in too deep – like Regulus did.”

“I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who decided to bandage up my hand.”

“You’re the one stupid enough to get it in that state to start with.”

Harry frowned, and there was Draco’s familiar smirk.

“As if she’d ever believe a word you said,” he murmured. His fingers brushed at Harry’s fringe. Nudged his glasses into place. “But you’re so stubborn, aren’t you?”

Draco pushed Harry’s fringe back and pressed his mouth against his forehead. Not quite a kiss. His lips stayed there, as he hugged Harry closer.

“And even if you surrendered today, people would die,” Draco whispered. “So many more people would die because the Dark Lord wants to kill them. That’s not your fault.”

Harry let his head rest against Draco’s chest – they shifted and slid on the sofa until they fit against each other. It hadn’t always felt like a perfect fit, but now it was starting to. As though they had been eroded away to make it work.

He could hear Draco’s heartbeat. It was faster than usual – it always was on the night of the full moon.

“This is like the Common Room,” Harry murmured, feeling his eyes close as Draco’s fingers combed his hair. Hermione had cleaned them both up, so there was no plaster or dust left. “Do you remember?”

“Mmmm,” Draco hummed beneath him. “How could I forget so much red?”

“Red is warm. The dungeons are cold. Green is cold.”

“But the mermaids give such brilliant dating advice.”

“What’d they say?” Harry raised himself onto his elbows, onto Draco’s chest, so that his face was inches from Draco’s. He had missed this – missed intimacy and quiet.

“Drown him.” Draco smiled at Harry’s expression. His hand let Harry’s fringe fall back into place. “But, you survived that, didn’t you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Ah, I see. The ‘Potter Stinks’ badges were just your way of saying ‘I’m madly in love with you.’”

“I had to repress my homosexuality. It’s not my fault that you’re the most oblivious person on the planet.”

Harry shifted himself up just to kiss Draco. It turned into two kisses. Then three. Slow, savouring kisses that made it hard to pull himself away from.

“Let me come with you.” Draco spoke against Harry’s mouth. “I know that you don’t want to leave Weasley, but I don’t want to leave you.”

Harry was going to say yes, because he always ended up saying yes to Draco.

But that didn’t mean he was going to make it that easy.

“And if I say no…?” He pulled away, just to grin at Draco.

In the next second, he yelped as he toppled over and onto the carpet. There was no time to fight back – Draco was on him – attacking his cheeks – his jaw – his neck with his mouth. His hands pulled Harry’s shirt up, and he trailed a warm tongue up his stomach. It still made Harry catch his breath – leaning against Draco’s touch and struggling upright to kiss him.

He had his teeth on Draco’s earlobe when he whispered, “fine, Malfoy.”

Draco’s fingers tightened. “What was that?”

“I said.” Harry pulled away. Pressing their foreheads together with a definite bump. “Malfoy.”

He kissed him, following the familiar line of his jaw. His hands found their way under Draco’s shirt, ghosting their way up his sides so that he leant against Harry.

“It’s getting late.” Draco’s lips were on Harry’s ear.

“It’s getting late after I agreed to what you want.”

Draco smiled at him, looking distinctly fox-like in the firelight. He moved away from Harry, letting his shirt fall back into place as he hunted for the wolfsbane potion in Hermione’s bag.

Harry sat with his back against the fire and watched.

Draco had been right. There weren’t many places in the Wizarding World that would accommodate him now. As soon as anyone found out the truth, they would be distrustful and distasteful of him.

In the Wizarding World.

But the world Harry grew up in – that was different. If anyone accused Draco of being a werewolf there, they would be laughed at. It was a crazy thought – and one that he was sure Draco wouldn’t be happy about.

But it seemed more and more as though the Muggle World was becoming an enticing future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Why is Aberforth a carbon copy of Dumbledore? They're bothers not twins but I guess genetics run strong in the HP universe. (Let's not forget Harry looks exactly like his father...because that's how children work.)
> 
> But yeah that implication is that Lupin is trans. I always find coming out scenes hard to manage because most of the time it doesn't feel like anyone's business but the characters, and it's always kind of awful to have a character out another character.
> 
> I forgot to mention last time that I'm doing whatever I want with this and am only very loosely following canon because Deathly Hallows is absurdly slow. The timeskips are just??? "Ron didn't have any luck until March" - so what were they doing? Every day? All that time?? Just?? Sitting around the tent??
> 
> And the way that they find out about goblin iron absorbing things is just a bigger coincidence that Jane Eyre happening to drop down on the doorstep of her cousins and the Artful Dodger happening to pickpocket Oliver's grandfather's closest friend put together. Like I know England isn't giant but what is the coincidence of bumping into a group of two goblins talking about goblin iron?? Deathly Hallows is just a string of the trio getting very lucky.
> 
> Anyway that's this chapter. Thank you again for all of the support on this fic and I hope you enjoyed this latest edition. xx


	9. Chapter Nine

9

A cold, wet snout woke Harry from a muddle dream of looking for someone – looking for someone and he would do anything to find them. Gregorovitch. Again.

He opened his eyes to find a pale wolf stood over him. Draco. The wolf whined, and rested his head across Harry’s chest. He rubbed it behind the ears, thinking hard. That had not been his dream. Now that he was awake, he realised that, and pushed it out of his mind as forcefully as he could.

But he still felt – seen. Like something was watching him.

Harry sat up. They were all sleeping on blankets on the floor but that hadn’t made it difficult to sleep when they were so exhausted. He continued stroking wolf-Draco’s head, absently.

“What if he’s getting stronger?” he whispered. “I mean, it’s been so long since…”

Since he had Voldemort in his mind.

Draco whined again, pushing himself next to him with so much force that Harry almost fell over. The moon shone through the window, casting a silvery glow on the sleeping forms of Ron and Hermione. There was no way that he would be able to go back to sleep, he knew, because there was something prickling up his back. Knowing that Voldemort was on the edges of his mind worried him, especially if Draco wasn’t there to help fight it off.

He owed Draco for a lot.

“Stay here,” he told the wolf, and at the slight growl he heard from Draco, added, “I need someone to watch over Ron and Hermione.”

Which, judging from the way the wolf puffed himself up, Draco was proud to do.

Harry slipped back through to the living room. The fire was low in the grate, casting a dim amber light over the room.

Aberforth was sat in the armchair again, half-closed eyes staring at the portrait of the girl above the mantle. Harry examined her, and saw familiar blue eyes staring back at him.

“Oh, it’s you,” Aberforth grumbled. He shuffled upright, and stoked the fire. “Shouldn’t you be getting some rest?”

“That’s Arianna, isn’t it?” Harry asked. “Your sister.”

More of a guard than usual appeared over Aberforth’s features. He stared at Harry wearily.

“Yes.”

“Was she –” Harry wasn’t sure if he could say it, whilst those bright eyes watched him. “What happened?”

“Why?” Aberforth demanded. “You want to know if she was a squib? Been reading Skeeter?”

“I want to know what happened,” Harry said again, and tried to sound firm. “The truth. Because I thought I knew Dumbledore –”

“Nobody knew Albus. Not really.” He paused, looking into the fire. “Apart from Grindlewald, maybe.”

“They were…”

“Like you.” There was no judgement on Aberforth’s face, just a tiredness. But at Harry’s shocked expression, he barked a laugh. “You think you’re subtle about it?”

Harry felt his cheeks flush, just as if he was stood right next to the fire. He shook his head – he knew they weren’t – that most people they met could probably see how they felt about each other at a glance.

Aberforth also shook his head, and he gestured to the sofa. Harry sat, feeling sore and tired and – old.

“She was six.” He nodded his head to the portrait, and looked at Harry no more. “Six. In the garden, when the Muggles found her. Just some muggle boys who didn’t understand how she could do that trick with the flower. You know as well as any that people get angry when they don’t understand something.”

Harry nodded, but it didn’t seem to matter, because Aberforth continued. His stone steady and rolling like waves onto a shore.

“It changed her. She never told me just what they did but it hurt her all the way to her core. That was where her magic went. And it exploded out of her when she was hurt or scared or angry. It wasn’t often. Arianna was sweet and gentle and kind.”

Aberforth poked the fire again, and the light reflected on his skin.

“And of course, my father went and hunted down the muggle boys who did it. Got sent to Askaban for his trouble – never admitted to the court just why he’d attacked them like that. It was a different time, and she would be sent to St Mungo’s for good.”

That was just like what Draco had said. It was a different time. People thought about squibs differently.

Harry thought about Argus Filch. Not much had changed, actually.

“We moved. Had to. And said she was too sick for school, because she was. And mother stayed to take care of her. But I was the one she liked best. We understood each other – I knew how to get her to eat, to calm down – she fed the goats with me.”

“And what about Dumbledore?” Harry asked.

“He couldn’t be bothered. He was busy. Studying. Writing letters to ensure that he had the right people in his pocket.” Aberforth’s mouth flickered into a smirk. “Not much changed.”

“But he helped a lot of people,” Harry said, and was not quite sure why he did. “Like Hagrid.”

“Yes, wasn’t it generous to _allow_ the boy he let be expelled work for him? As a gardener for those huge grounds, with no magic?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but found no answer. He hated the way that Aberforth’s eyes glinted, in something like triumph, at that.

“She was fourteen when it happened. One of her rages, and Mother couldn’t handle it her like I could – but I wasn’t there – and she didn’t stop, but she didn’t mean to kill her.”

Aberforth’s hands were shaking.

“Perfect Albus came back from his trip around the world with Doge for the funeral. Settled in as head of the family and insisted that I go to Hogwarts – that I finish my education. As if that mattered, when we were talking about her…But he wanted to do it, and I could never understand that.”

Harry was scared to fill the silence, but he had to. There was still a part of him that wanted to see Dumbledore like he did when he was eleven.

“Maybe he wanted to make up for lost time?”

“Wanted the sympathy, more like.” Aberforth’s face twisted, but it was with sorrow and pain rather than anger. “Wanted to matyr himself…though I suppose he did alright, for a few weeks. That was when he showed up.”

“Grindlewald.”

Aberforth nodded. “He changed Albus. Suddenly. I suppose it wasn’t like you and the Malfoy boy. This was a sudden, all-consuming obsession with each other. They built each other up – egging each other on, talking about the _Hallows_ and the rightful place of wizards and muggles…she didn’t matter to them.”

Harry listened in silence. It was strange. He couldn’t line up the pieces of the Albus Dumbledore that Aberforth had, and the pieces he had.

“So I told him – had to tell both of them, face to face – that they had to give it up. Give it up because they couldn’t take her with them. She was in no state to be moved. But that I could stay with her – I cared about her, you see – more than any of the nonsense they were getting themselves into.”

There was a grim look in Aberforth’s jaw, as though he was remembering an old wound.

“Grindlewald did not like that. Said that it wouldn’t matter, if they did what they wanted, because Arianna wouldn’t have to hide from Muggles. And I needed to stop standing in Albus’ way…we argued. All three of us. And then suddenly I found out what the cruciatus curse felt like.”

“Dumbledore…” That was the part Harry couldn’t say out loud.

“Not him. But the boy he’d been blinded by.” Aberforth took a long breath, and it was full of regret. “That seemed to wake him up. He stopped him, and he helped me up. But I still wasn’t sure who’s side he was on. His own, most likely, as usual, because we were all duelling and it was chaos and –”

He broke off, and his blue eyes looked at the portrait over the fireplace. The girl was still staring out at nothing, still with a small smile on her face. As if it were a Muggle picture, and not a wizard one.

“She just wanted to stop it. She didn’t like the shouting and the lights and seeing anyone in pain. So she started forward and – well, none of noticed until – until she was falling, and…it could have been any one of us. All of us.”

Harry felt numb. Completely numb, as though he had stood in a room full of ice for the last hour.

“I’m…sorry,” he whispered. What else could he say? He hadn’t known that magic could explode – and the more he found out about magic the less whimsical the wizarding world seemed.

“Grindlewald left. Very quickly, because he didn’t want to build a reputation in this country as well as his own…That changed Albus again. He was wary then, I think, of ever getting so close to someone. I don’t think he ever knew how to deal with that – with him leaving and – not looking back…But he had what he wanted, in a way. His mad sister was gone, and now he could do what he wanted.”

Harry stayed very quiet. The idea of Draco leaving had been – was – unthinkable. So unthinkable that he’d followed him.

But Draco was not Grindelwald. He’d paid enough attention in History of Magic to know what Grindlewald had done. What he wanted. That he was very similar to a figure in the Muggle World, at the time.

And that wasn’t Draco. He may have said Mudblood when they were twelve – may have spoken about purebloods and muggleborns – but he had grown up. He had changed.

If he hadn’t. If now, Draco left him and went to Voldemort – if his views went back – Harry wasn’t sure how he would be able to cope with that. It would be too painful – it would break something in him that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to mend.

His mind wandered – unable to imagine a young Dumbledore, an unguarded Dumbledore – because what if Harry became like that? Secretive and planning and – his thoughts went back to the cave, last year.

“The night he died, he – he had to drink a potion – I don’t know what it was, but I’ve never seen him like that,” he said, because he hadn’t told anyone, not even Ron and Hermione and he felt like Aberforth was the only person who could understand. “He was – crying – sobbing and he was screaming ‘hurt me instead.’ And I think…I think he thought he was there, with you and her and…Grindlewald. I think it still haunted him, what happened.”

“As it should anyone.” Aberforth spoke slowly, as though he was reeling. “But she was indispensable to him…and I think you know you’re the same.”

“What do you mean?” It felt as though a sliver of ice had dropped through Harry’s chest, down to his stomach.

“I told you that he changed, back then. That he cut himself off.” Aberforth tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair, still staring into the fire, as though he could read the flames. “Can you say that he was interested in you, or interested in the greater good?”

He knew what Hermione would say, if she were awake. He even knew what Draco would say. And he’d always had half a mind to believe them; that he was Dumbledore’s favourite.

“I think he loved me,” Harry said. He stared at the fire, because it was easier to pretend he was talking to it, instead of Aberforth. The white scars on the back of his hand caught the light. He remembered then – not wanting to tell Dumbledore. There had been a lot of times like that, and he suddenly realised why. “No, he loved the idea of me. The idea of an orphan – a boy who lived under the stairs because his Uncle hated him – being the Chosen One. That was the story that he wanted…he told me what I needed to know, at each step, so that I could fill in that story for him.”

He was surprised to find that his cheeks were damp. Harry had not realised that he had felt all of these things, until he had started talking. And now that he did, he realised that he had loved Dumbledore.

And the fact that he did not love him – the real Harry – back hurt very much.

Aberforth was not looking at him, still. But he nodded, slowly.

“It’s hard to understand him, better than most, isn’t it?”

Harry stared at the fire and felt it dry his cheeks as soon as they were damp again.

It was. It had been so much easier – so much more comforting – to believe the story of Dumbledore.

And to believe the story of Harry Potter.

*

Harry felt as though he had barely slept, but Draco didn’t look much better. This had been what it had felt like for his sixth year, and he couldn’t say that he had missed it.

Even Ron was yawning through the cooked breakfast that Aberforth had prepared, though that was because Ron was slow to wake-up. The breakfast itself had been an admirable attempt, but there was still grit from the frying pan on the bacon and Harry thought the egg was just a bit too runny, the toast slightly too dark. The effort, however, was appreciated, and he tried to tell Aberforth so.

He just received a nod. Aberforth seemed distracted today. He sat at the far end of the table crowded into his gritty kitchen, his eyes trailing over Harry, and then the portrait of Arianna, no doubt lost in their conversation last night. At least he was focusing on that, rather than any wolf-like noises he might have heard.

“What were you dreaming about last night, trouble?” Draco broke him from his reverie. “You were muttering.”

Harry’s scar prickled, just from remembering it.

“Gregorovitch,” he said, without really thinking. “Again. Getting closer, I think.”

Hermione scowled, and put her mug of coffee down.

“The wandmaker,” Draco said. He ran a hand over his mouth as he thought, and Harry was distracted. The hot tea had made Draco’s lips pinker than usual. “What does he want with a wandmaker?”

Harry thought. “Our wands react to each other. The night we left Privet Drive, he was screaming for another wand. I don’t think the one he has now works against mine.”

“Still,” Ron said, more awake now that he had eaten three slices of burnt toast. “It’s a long way to go, isn’t it? For another wand?”

“Especially with Ollivander’s being closed so long,” Draco added. “And we all know where he’s disappeared off to.”

There was a grim silence at that, for a moment. Harry could still feel Hermione’s glare on him, as he struggled with the bacon in front of him. He had gotten fussy, he realised – before the age of ten, he would have scoffed the whole breakfast down, runny eggs or no.

“What?” Harry asked her, looking up to find that she had folded her arms.

“I thought that you were supposed to be controlling this,” she said.

“I am,” Harry replied. “I mean – I am controlling it. Most of the time.”

And that was true. His scar stung, just as often as ever, but he was getting better at sending that shooting pain away. At pushing away the disturbing feelings and visions that came with it. But last night, that had slipped. It had always been harder to control in his sleep, and –

“I usually keep him safe,” Draco said. He was toying the food around his plate, but he was eating it. Slowly. “But last night’s situation made that difficult.”

Hermione seemed to let this slide. Because instead she jerked her head to the far end of the table and hissed, “and watch what you’re saying.”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t think Aberforth was particularly interested, and even if he were, what would he say? That Harry had a vague sense of what Voldemort was up to? Who would he tell? If the Death Eater’s cared about that, then they would lose their minds at the thought of knowing where Harry was.

Ron yawned, again, and downed his tea.

“Shame it’s not Gorgovitch, instead, eh?” he asked. “You know, the Quidditch player?”

“Yeah.” Harry had to smile. It was Ron’s way of lightening the mood. “Shame.”

“Because no one can beat you at Quidditch, Harry.” Ron was serious. “Not even you-know-who.”

He could have laughed at the thought of the fate of the Wizarding World resting on a Quidditch match. But it was preferable to their lives now, so he just nodded and smiled.

And when they were done eating, Aberforth nodded to the portrait. The picture of Arianna nodded back, every so slightly, then turned and started along the path behind her.

“I’ve alerted the DA,” Hermione said. “But I don’t suppose that you’ve got a real plan? And I’m just supposed to sit here and what? Wait to see if you get caught?”

“Rest, Hermione,” Harry said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. Read.”

Hermione nodded, but she did not look comforted by that. She pulled Harry into a tight hug.

“Be safe, won’t you?” she asked, as she pulled away. “All of you?”

“I’m flattered, Granger,” Draco said.

“It’s not for your sake.” She glared. “It’s because if you get caught then we’ll all get into trouble.”

Draco was about to snap back, when Ron stepped forward and said, loudly, “thanks, Hermione.”

Ariranna was returning now. With a figure in tow. Harry squinted, trying to make out the details.

Then it became clear. The person coming up the path was very familiar.

“Oh.” Hermione put a hand over her mouth. “The coins worked, then.”

They had. The portrait swung off of the wall, to reveal Neville Longbottom crawling through the passageway, looking dusty and out of breath. He was the same as they had seen him last, apart from a large gash on his cheek.

“Harry,” he cried, stumbling forward and onto the already ash-strewn carpet. “You can’t come back to Hogwarts! Snape, and the –“

“I’m not coming back, Neville,” Harry said. “I’ll explain it all when we get there, don’t worry.”

Neville nodded, but still looked very much still worried.

“Thank you,” Harry told Aberforth. “For everything.”

Aberforth looked at him, soberly. “Just don’t get yourself killed for him, Potter.”

He could only nod. Harry hiked himself up, and into the passageway, hearing the others thank Aberforth again, and then join him. He crawled along in the dark, feeling dust gathering on his clothes, in his hair and up his nose. There was a familiar itchy feeling that came along with the dust – with knowing that the passageway was most likely full of spiders or woodlouse. Whilst he wasn’t scared of them, the idea of them crawling under his clothes was never pleasant.

The passage levelled out, so that Harry could stand upright. He lit his wand to see the neat stone walls around him, the stones below him worn, as though this passageway had been there forever.

“Blimey,” Ron said, lighting his wand next to him. “This was never on the Marauder’s Map.”

“They closed off all the passages as soon as school started,” Neville said, slipping past Harry and taking the lead. “They actually said so, at the start of term feast. But they don’t know about this one. It’s new.”

“New?” Ron echoed.

Neville smiled, but it only drew attention to the huge cut on his face. The skin around it was red, and raw.

“You’ll see,” he said, and looked proud of himself. “I’ll explain when we get there.”

“What happened to your face?” Harry had a dozen questions, but that one seemed the most pressing.

Neville blinked at him, then put his fingers over the cut. He smiled, as though he was proud.

“Got it for being lippy in dark arts class,” he said, and seemed to notice Ron’s frown, because he continued. “Yeah – it’s dark arts, not defence now. The Carrows didn’t appreciate my opinion of that…they’re in charge of discipline now – all of it. Other teachers are supposed to send them to us for it, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. Seamus all but started duelling Crabbe in Transfiguration, and Professor McGonagall didn’t even deduct house points.”

“You mean – you got into trouble deliberately?” Harry shouldn’t be so surprised – but this was nothing like the Neville Longbottom that he knew.

“Well, yeah.” Neville scratched the back of his neck. “I noticed, when you spoke out in fifth year – that it kept people’s hopes up. And I’m sure this is nothing compared to Umbridge’s detentions, eh?”

Neville didn’t know the truth about the detentions. The only ones who did were Ron, Hermione and – Harry glanced back to see Draco raise his eyebrows, as if in agreement. Neville and Draco – he never thought they would be on the same side.

“How is the DA?” Ron asked. “How’s Ginny?”

“She’s fine,” Neville said. “But, of course, she wants to get as involved as she can. It looks like its me, her and Luna as the ringleaders of all of this.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” There was a growl in Ron’s voice.

“You can’t stop her, Ron,” Neville said. “And she’s the fiercest out of all of us. You’re doing your bit – let her do hers.”

Ron was still scowling. Harry knew that it didn’t sit well with him, and he felt panic in his chest at the thought of Ginny getting into serious trouble. But he also knew that Ginny was a storm onto herself, and that she was old enough to make her own decision about this.

“Speaking of,” Neville continued. “What are you doing here? Hogwarts is the worst place for you, right now.”

“We need something from the castle,” Harry said. Most of the Order already knew about the Horcruxes, and surely Voldemort could guess that was what they were doing anyway. “Voldemort has horcruxes. We need something to destroy it.”

“What do you need?” He could see the eagerness in Neville’s eyes – the readiness to help.

But that was as much information as he could give. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you.”

“That’s fair.” Neville took this in his stride. “What do you need us to do?”

“Make sure that nobody notices us,” Harry said. “We need to get to the second floor.”

Neville nodded. “Class started ten minutes ago – if we wait another five, there shouldn’t be anyone in the corridors.”

“You missed class for us?” Ron asked. He seemed just as shocked at this new Neville, who shrugged, as if to say that this was more important.

They had come to the end of the passageway now. A neat, round door stood there, looking much newer than everything around them. Neville pushed the door open, to reveal a very familiar room. One Harry should have expected.

It was the old D.A room. With the targets stood ready and the walls lined with books. There were changes now – a few hammocks in the corner of the room, and a large medicine cabinet stood in one corner.

Ginny was there – Luna too, as well as Dean Thomas, and Michael Corner. They cheered at the sight of the four of them appearing from the passage, and Harry felt his face grow hot. He felt like a hero, and he knew that he shouldn’t.

“The Room of Requirement,” Neville said, with a flourish.

“Ginny!” Ron barged forward, hugging her roughly. She laughed, then gestured for Harry to join them. He did, feeling suddenly bashful. He and Ron did not hug as much as they should, he realised – and wondered why when he felt so safe with one of his best friend’s arms around him.

He saw, over Ginny’s shoulder, Luna performing a complicated, drifty handshake with Draco. Maybe it was to get rid of Nargles – but Draco was smiling. It was hard not to be fond of Luna, for all of her strange ways.

“How?” Harry asked Neville, pulling away from Ginny, slightly.

“Well, we knew that we’d need somewhere to hide,” Neville said. “So I used the coins again – to get everyone here. And I figured that we would need a way out of Hogwarts, if it all got too dangerous – as soon as I thought that, the passage appeared.”

“And old Aberforth’s alright with that?” Draco asked.

Neville shrugged. “He wasn’t huge on it at first…but he is a member of the Order – you probably know that, though – and he wants to help us – any way that he can. He doesn’t think any of us should be at Hogwarts anymore.”

“Not that we have much choice,” Seamus added. “People are being rounded up everywhere – haven’t you been listening to Potterwatch?”

Harry blinked. “Potter – what?”

“Potterwatch,” Ginny said. She finally stepped away from both of them, her eyes glinting. She looked confident – more confident than Harry had ever seen her. “Lee Jordan’s presenting it on pirate radio – it’s news for the rebels. Heard you were spotted in the ministry yesterday.”

“That’s nonsense,” Michael Corner said. “How would they have got here so quickly?”

“Floo powder,” Harry replied.

“They would have traced you.”

“Not from our location. We needed something at the Ministry. Now we need something at Hogwarts.”

“It’s all one never ending treasure hunt,” Ron said.

“We can use the coins to get everyone in class to start trouble,” Neville said, already pulling his galleon out of his pocket. “They can’t put all of us in detention.”

“They can try,” Michael Corner muttered, darkly.

The three decided that Harry would still wear the invsibility cloak, whilst Ron and Draco changed clothes. They changed their hairstyles, in an attempt to be less recognisable. As Ginny said – no one would think Ron was a Weasley if he was wearing Ravenclaw robes. And there was no one who would expect Malfoy to be at school, much less wearing Hufflepuff colours. That would buy them much needed time, if they ran into trouble.

Which they shouldn’t.

After ten minutes, they peaked out from the Room of Requirement. The hallways were completely empty.

And yet, in the next moment, there was a loud bang from underneath their feet.

“That’ll be charms class,” Neville said, cheerfully.

Ron stared at him, looking amazed, until Draco tugged on his sleeve, and pulled him down the corridor. Harry followed, walking quickly.

Neville had been right. The corridors were completely empty. Unnervingly so, with no stragglers or people bunking off. There didn’t even seem to be any animals.

“What about the fifth and sixth years?” Ron murmured as they headed down the grand staircase. The whole place seemed like a ghost town – without even ghosts. “They should have free periods.”

“I bet they’re overseen,” Draco replied. He walked casually, but his fist was clenched around his wand. He was tense – and Harry was too. “Make sure that no one’s talking about anything they shouldn’t.”

“They can’t do that.”

Yes,” Harry said. “They can.”

It didn’t surprise him – that Snape wanted everyone under his thumb. And yet – he had to remember last year. When he had made sure to split him and Draco up as much as possible. Hermione had said that could have been the one time Snape wasn’t being deliberately cruel. Maybe he had been trying to protect Draco from the animosity that Hogwarts had become, instead.

Maybe this was like that. Maybe he was doing what the other teachers were doing and trying to save the students as much punishment as possible.

Harry would be tempted to think that. But he still remembered Snape shooting at Dumbledore – Dumbledore falling off of the astronomy tower. Still remembered that Snape had been Neville’s boggart – still remembered the years and years of needless cruelty.

Did this – even if he meant well – outweigh that?

No, Harry decided, as they reached the second floor. No, it didn’t.

The floor stunk. It was as though they had hit a wall of stinkbombs. And indeed, he could hear Peeves cackling in the distance. There was shouting and yelling – the sounds of spells being cast.

They hurried, without discussing it to each other. At any moment, a teacher could come from one of the classrooms, and they would be caught. It was best not to linger.

And yet it seemed all too soon that Harry was standing in front of the girl’s bathroom. It was the only thing that seemed familiar, in all of the strange changes that Hogwarts had gone through. The bathroom was always empty – looked much the same as it always had.

He shook his head.

Basilisk or no – when had the thought of returning to the Chamber of Secrets ever been the safer option?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): This is where we start to get a lot different from the books because - I don't know - the idea of the three of them just?? Camping?? Without a plan?? Is strange to me?? Like I know they don't know what the next step is, but the lack of proactivity is weird when there's a war happening. Idk like in the other books time lapses kind of make sense because they're at school and school gets in the way, but they have nothing on in Deathly Hallows. What do they do all day? Why are the only food options mushrooms? Other things...grow...like fruit and berries...And could Harry not accio or wigardium leviosa or levicorpus a fish instead of trying to actually fish?? It's just bizarre.
> 
> As always thanks for all the support - do leave a comment with any thoughts/feelings - and I'll see you next week x


	10. Chapter 10

10

If the idea of seeing Professor Snape again, or of meeting the Carrows was bad, then the idea of coming face to face with Moaning Myrtle again was worse.

She drifted out from one of the stalls, as soon as they closed the door behind them.

“Oh,” she said, when she saw Ron and Draco. “It’s _you_. I was hoping for someone I could have more of a conversation with.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Draco stepped forward, and Harry could see him trying to find where he was. If he was already making his way to the sink or not. “Is this really it?”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “’Scuse us, Myrtle. We won’t be a moment.”

“All summer long I’ve had no one to talk to, and now that term starts no one’s allowed in here without teacher’s permission…the only live person I get to see in months is just Potter’s _friends_.”

Harry ignored Myrtle, glad of the invisibility cloak. She seemed in a worse mood than usual, and his nerves were too tightly wound to have the patience for her.

“You don’t even have him with you,” Myrtle continued, as Harry approached the sink. He stared at the serpent headed tap. “I should tell someone that you’re in here.”

“Please don’t,” Ron said, with a pained expression.

But Myrtle was already opening her mouth, no doubt getting ready to scream to anyone who could hear her that there were boys in the girl’s toilet.

“Don’t.” Harry hissed, and pulled the cloak off.

It was like a spell in itself. Immediately, Myrtle’s scowl softened into a sweet, simpering smile. Her eyes glistened behind her glasses and she floated over to him.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” she said.

“Please just keep watch, alright?” he asked, tiredly. She may have been years older than him, but she still looked fourteen. And it made him feel strange to be looked at her like that now.

“What’s the problem?” Draco asked, reaching Harry’s side. He put a hand around Harry’s waist – resting it just a little too below his hip to be by accident. And he looked pointedly at Myrtle. “Can’t you get in?”

“I can,” Harry said. “Just give me a minute – I – I don’t know when I’m speaking parsletongue, alright?”

He concentrated on the tap. Tried to make it seem real. It was a painful few moments, and it was hard to concentrate with Myrtle glaring at Draco and Draco hooking his fingers into Harry’s belt loop to pull him even closer. So, he closed his eyes. Tried to imagine the python at the zoo in front of him and whispered for the chamber to open.

There was a grating noise, only a moment later, and Harry felt his heart soar in relief. He opened his eyes to see the sink sliding away from itself to reveal that dark pipe. It was like a large, dark mouth, waiting to swallow them.

“Ah.” Ron smiled slightly, though his face looked pale. “Remember the last time we were here? Bullying Lockheart to go down with us?”

Draco stared at him. “I can’t believe that you thought I was more of an evil child than you lot were.”

“Well, it was Lockheart, wasn’t it?” Ron replied.

“Yes, the man who is still checked into St Mungos, not able to remember his name. That Lockheart?”

“It’s his own fault,” Ron said. “He tried to double cross us – took my wand and it backfired on him.”

“Stop.” Harry could feel a pain growing between his eyes. “Let’s just – go.”

“How will we get back out?” Ron asked, even as Harry stepped forward, and began lowering himself into the pipe. “Without Fawkes, I mean?”

“I’ll transfigure some handles into the metal.” There was a hint of sarcasm in Draco’s tone, although Harry, now in that gaping mouth, thought it had been a fair question. “Or something.”

Harry nodded, as though that was a very good plan. Then let go of the edges of the pipe, and left his stomach behind.

He slid in the pitch black through muck and grime before he landed on something soft with a squelch. Immediately, the smell of rot, decay and damp hit him. It was overpowering, and he gagged. As he tried to stand, his fingers found more muck underneath him.

The Chamber of Secrets was just one more thing about Hogwarts that he hadn’t missed.

He heard another body falling down the chute, and scrambled out of the way. His wand was in his waistband, and he pulled it out, casting _lumos._

Ron landed in the muck too, and grimaced as he stood, covering his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. Draco appeared moments later – miraculously landing on his feet. His eyes glittered in the silvery wand light.

“I remember why I never wanted to join your adventures now,” he said. “This place is vile.”

Harry couldn’t argue against that one. He started forward, folding the invisibility cloak up as tightly as it would go, and shoving it into the rucksack that Ron was carrying. His heart was thudding, but he kept telling himself that there was no reason to be scared. Nothing was down here – only a basilisk skeleton.

They passed remains of the basilisk’s shed skin, and it glinted in the light from their wands. Ron looked at Harry, with the expression of someone about to faint. Harry couldn’t blame him.

Their footsteps were loud down here, even on the stones caked in grime. There was a dripping from somewhere, and it felt like a clock ticking. Counting down the time until the school was brought to rest again and it would be just a little bit harder to sneak to the room of requirement.

It seemed like an eternity before they reached the large, round room that housed the remains of the basilisk. Its skeleton was still there, spread out over the stones, with moss eating away at the yellowing bones.

Harry had thought that it would have seemed smaller, now that he was five years taller. If anything, it was bigger than he remembered it.

Draco gave a low whistle, and Ron shook his head.

Harry remembered Tom Riddle standing in the dull, silvery light of the chamber. Smiling at him. Treating him like a friend until he had taken Harry’s wand. Until he had released the Basilisk and Harry had ran, blindly, hearing the thudding of the snake behind him.

He thought that he had been through much worse since then. But no, now that he was standing here, he remembered the absolute terror of that day more clearly than ever.

His hands were shaking. He pressed his nails into his palms and clenched his jaw.

“I still think,” Ron said. “That raising a basilisk would win us the war.”

Harry ignored him. He stepped forward, and his footstep echoed around the chamber. Just like before. When Riddle had taunted him – he may have blinded the Basilisk, but it still had ears.

Not anymore. It was a pile of bones and it was dead.

It was dead.

And there wasn’t going to be another one slinking out of the great stone mouth set into the wall. No more slithering behind him.

Although, Harry thought, there _was_ a Slytherin behind him. Now he knew that he was nervous – his thoughts had turned ridiculous.

Harry crossed the distance between him and basilisk, and leant down at the old skeleton.

“It’s got plenty, hasn’t it?” Ron said. “How many should we take?”

“Four,” Harry decided. “In case we get split up.”

He took hold of each carefully, using the invisibility cloak to shield his hand from the sharp points. They fell away surprisingly easily – crumbling away from the jawbone.

Harry bundled them in Ron’s backpack and gave a final glance around the Chamber.

“I don’t think it had a brother,” Draco said. He ran his fingers over the back of Harry’s hand. “In case you’re looking for it.”

“I know, I – just –” Harry didn’t know. He couldn’t explain the strange feelings in his chest. “I never thought I’d be back here.”

“You’ll always find your way back to the particularly disgusting places you almost died in. It’s your special talent.”

Harry smiled, slightly at that, and tore his eyes away from the Chamber. They walked back down the way they had come, and the whole time Harry felt as though there was something watching him. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he had the desperate urge to turn around.

But he couldn’t. Because there was still the awful feeling that he would turn around and find himself face to face with a pair of yellow eyes.

They reached the pipe. And Draco transfigured the inside of it to have handles to help them climb up. As they emerged from the top and clambered back into the bathroom, it was clear that something was very wrong.

For one thing, Moaning Myrtle was grinning. It wasn’t the usual soppy grin she gave Harry.

“There’s lots of commotion out in the hallway,” she told them, as Harry gave Draco a hand up and out of the pipe. He straightened, then grimaced at the mud on his hand, and wiped it on Harry’s shoulder.

Ron pulled out the invisibility cloak, and Harry wrapped it around himself.

“A swamp appeared on the third floor and loads of seventh years ran out of their classes. Sixth years have gone mad too – firing hexes at each other and starting duels,” Myrtle continued, as though they had asked. “And the teachers know there are intruders.”

Harry froze, his head not in the cloak. “How?”

Myrtle shrugged. “Maybe they saw the muddy footprints in the hallways…or maybe someone told them.”

“Did you?” Ron demanded.

Myrtle put a hand over her heart, as though she was wounded. “Me? Never. It’s more likely someone recognised either of you – with that _hair_.”

Draco scowled at that – just for a moment, before he said, “she’s probably right.”

“If they know we’re here, how are we going to get out?” Ron asked. “Jump out the window?”

Harry – tucking the invisibility cloak back away since there was no point – went over to it and pulled up the frosted pane. There was the start of a plan in his mind. Because he could see the Quidditch pitch from here, and that made him remember something very important.

“I wasn’t serious,” Ron said.

“Do you think three people could fit on one broom?” Harry asked.

“No.” Draco frowned at him.

There was a sudden clamour in the hallway behind them. It wasn’t the usual noise of students coming out of class – there was panic mixed in. Anger too.

Draco cast colloportus to lock the door and suddenly everyone was looking at Harry.

So he raised his wand and called, _“accio, broom_.”

He was concentrating. Concentrating so hard that his vision blurred and he couldn’t see Draco and Ron’s confused faces staring at him. But he could imagine the brooms stored in the cupboard. He’d ridden on one before, just for a few matches, but he hoped it still remembered him. He imagined it bursting out of the cupboard and soaring up to the window.

There was more banging on the door. The sound of a spell hitting against it and then the smell of smoke in the air. They knew they were here.

“Please tell me you have a plan?” Ron said, desperately.

Just as the doors of the bathroom smashed into splinters.

And the window shattered into pieces as a broom came through.

Harry stopped it at the windowsill. got a glimpse of Severus Snape’s face – contorted with rage or fear or shock – or perhaps all three, as he jumped on the broom. He felt it immediately weighed down as both Ron and Draco hopped onto the end of it.

They kicked off, all sliding down the broom so that there was barely room for Harry’s hands in front of him. He heard spells zipping through the window behind them, but there was no time to turn and look.

Ron was yelling. Or maybe it was Draco. Or Harry. Or all three of them. Because it was clear that this was doomed. The broom was already starting to splutter and sink under their combined weight.

There was more yelling from the castle. They were easy to notice, he assumed, from any window.

One voice stood out to him, yelling “there he is! There’s Potter!”

He recognised it as Pansy Parkinson’s. And a moment later heard her yell out a jinx.

Harry leant forward to avoid it – hearing the unmistakable sound of Ginny’s bat bogey curse and the start of the chaos that inevitably followed – and as he did the broom lurched sickeningly forward.

The spell hit the broom’s tail, and sent them spinning out sideways.

Draco swore – loudly – just as Ron bellowed in Harry’s ear, “we’re on fire!”

“ _Aquamenti!_ ” Draco yelled, swore again, then cast the spell again.

Harry had barely any control of the broom. It was all he could do to keep it upright, as it fell in jerks towards the ground. They were spinning – the world was a blur – and even though Draco had extinguished the flames, the broom’s balance was off.

He desperately tried to steer the broom to the blur of brown and black that he knew was the Forbidden Forest. More spells were coming at them now – he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder from a stinging curse.

Ron got the worst deal – he was doing his best to tap dance on the broom – obviously hit by a powerful _tarantegalla._ It jilted them all to the side. Harry’s fingers were numb from clinging so tightly to the broom and he could barely breathe from Ron’s arms around his stomach.

Then everything turned green. Harry felt leaves brush against his face a second before he heard a terrible snap. The wood beneath his hands splintered – there was a jab of pain in his forehead – before he was falling.

No, falling was too gentle a word. Every branch that he passed was determined to wallop him as he passed them. His hands, desperate to find a grip, were the worse abused.

“ _Levicorpus!”_

It was Ron’s voice.

And a second later, Harry found himself upside down. It felt as though there was an invisible, sharp rope tight around his ankle, suspending him so that his hair just brushed the forest floor.

He looked up to see Ron flopped over a particularly large branch, his legs still jerking feverishly. Draco was next to him, looking even paler than usual, though his feet rested on the branch below him so that he looked less like a drunk squirrel. Even when he crash-landed, Draco was graceful.

“Sorry mate,” Ron said. “Only thing I could think of.”

“You just saved my life,” Harry replied. “But you can let me down, now.”

“Right.” Ron lowered his wand. Harry put his hands down to catch himself, then tumbled backwards in a clumsy, failed handstand. He sat in the dirt for a moment, catching his breath. Now that they had stopped, his heart was doing its best job of racing off without him and there was a roar of blood in his ears.

“Any more clever ideas, Potter?” Draco asked. He was already climbing down from the tree.

Harry got to his feet, finding a dozen over places on his body that were smarting. There was blood on his hands, a trickle running down his wrist. He wiped it on his jeans.

The broom lay, broken in half, just under the tree they had fallen into.

“Live with the centaurs?” he suggested.

Ron gave a hollow laugh. He was watching Draco closely, before he tried clambering down from the branches himself. Harry met Draco as he lowered himself to the ground, and wiped the blood from a cut on his cheek without thinking about it.

Draco blinked at him. He smiled, slightly. Then glanced towards the castle and said, “we have to get moving. Back to Hogsmede.”

“We could stay in the forest until dark,” Harry said. “And then sneak back to the Room of Requirement.”

Draco shook his head. “Too risky.”

“And I don’t want to stay here,” Ron added. He jumped the rest of the way down, landing with a loud thud, and a grunt. “The centaurs hate us, Grawp’s probably still around. Not to mention the spiders.”

They started putting distance between them and the ruined broom without discussing it. It was a habit now, to run away from the scene of the crime. Luckily, they were deep in the forest. So deep that Harry couldn’t hear any of the commotion that was no doubt coming from the castle.

“They’ll send everyone in after us, and knocking students and teachers out will only make things worse,” Draco continued. He glanced behind them, as though people were already there.

Ron stopped, suddenly.

When Harry turned back to check on him, he saw that his eyes were wide.

“The _spiders_ ,” Ron repeated.

“Yes, Ron, I know. There’s large spiders in the forest,” Harry said. But even thinking about them made the back of his neck prickle. He was never scared of spiders, but knowing how they digested food, and that these once wanted to digest him, wasn’t comforting.

Ron shook his head. His red hair stood out all the more against how pale his skin was.

“When we saw them – we were saved by the car,” Ron said. “And it drove back into the forest, remember?”

Harry did. He remembered feeling sore and tired and scared – just as he was now. Nothing much had changed since being twelve.

“What car?” Draco asked.

“But it has a life of its own,” Harry said. “And it’s been five years. It’ll have ran out petrol.”

Ron just shook his head. He stuck out his wand arm, as though he was hailing the Knight bus.

They all waited.

Blood was still roaring in Harry’s ears and he could feel his heartbeat behind his eyeballs. It seemed only a matter of time before a bunch of angry teachers and students found them, no matter how deeply they stood in the forest. The thick leaves above them made everything dark and gloomy, even though it was still the middle of the day.

There was a low rumbling from somewhere.

When Ron looked at them, proudly, Draco raised an eyebrow. “Could be all manner of things getting ready to kill us.”

The rumbling increased. And Harry remembered being twelve and hearing something similar. Of thinking it was some monster in the underbrush, ready to strike. Now he fingered where his wand sat in his waistband.

Even if it was the car – there was nothing to say that it hadn’t gone completely feral now. Maybe it was only coming towards them to mow them down.

Ron was still looking determinedly into the forest, his arm not wavering. Harry thought he heard him mumble something to the car about Mr Weasley and needing it.

Headlights appeared.

Draco clutched Harry’s arm. Tightly. And it only just occurred to Harry that Draco might never have seen a car. Or been in one.

It was a few more moments before the Ford Anglia came into view. The paint job was completely covered in mud, and the front grate full of branches.

The car drove slowly towards them, as though it was a stray cat figuring out whether to trust them. One of its headlights flickered.

Then Ron tapped his thighs, as though he was calling a dog over to him. And Harry watched with some amazement as the car picked up a bit of speed, revving as it came towards Ron. Exactly like a dog recognising its owner and coming towards them.

“There, there,” Ron said to the car, and patted its hood when it got close enough. It revved again, as though it was purring. “Look, Harry, it’s lost its other wingmirror somehow.”

“You’re right.” Harry wasn’t sure what else to say. He’d forgotten the car was here and couldn’t understand how it was still running at all. Couldn’t understand how the car understood Ron, but felt it must have something to do with Mr Weasley. This was one of his most beloved creations. And now he was gone. Maybe the car could sense that – could sense Ron’s grief.

He turned to Draco. “What do you think?”

Draco looked at him. He had the decency to keep his voice down, as Ron continued to pat the cars bonnet and talk to it. “How is it going to help? One good spell and it will go up in flames.”

“It can fly,” Harry said.

Draco stared at him.

“That’s how we got here in second year,” Harry explained. “We couldn’t get through the barrier at nine and three quarters, so we took Mr Weasley’s flying car.”

Meanwhile, Ron was already trying the door. It popped open, easily, and he grinned at Harry, looking for all the world as though his birthday and Christmas had come early. There was absolutely no choice.

“Alright,” Harry said. “We’ll take the car.”

Draco sighed next to him but followed him over to the car as Ron slipped into the driver’s seat. Harry took shotgun. As he rested his elbow on the windowsill, the car rolled the window down, as though it could tell what he was thinking. Draco got in the back, shuffling to the middle seat and leaning forward as Ron put his hands tentatively on the wheel.

The car drove forward without him needing to press down the accelerator. They started through the forest.

“Ron,” Harry said, feeling a little uneasy now that he knew the car had a mind of its own. “The car can still fly, can’t it?”

Ron bit his lip. “I think so. I mean – it was meant to have ran out of petrol when we hit the whomping willow, but it’s still going, isn’t it?”

“Last time it only took us as far as the forest. Maybe it only runs here?”

Ron shook his head. “I think it just likes it here.”

They were picking up speed now, the car reacting to any twitch of Ron’s hand on the steering wheel so that it was more like directing a horse than driving a car. The ride was rocky as well, as the car made its way over twigs and through thick piles of leaves.

Eventually, the trees began to thin, and more light came through the leaves. They neared the edge of the forest, and as they did, the car started to rumble more loudly underneath them.

As they cleared the forest, they saw that a huge fight was taking place on the Hogwarts grounds. At first, it looked like a free for all with spells flying everywhere. But Harry started to realise that it was three teams – one comprised of Snape, the Carrows and the students against him. He’d expected people like Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle to be against him, but he saw that there were blue ties mixed in there too. Even a couple of red ties, he thought, grimly. The other side seemed to be mostly Dumbledore’s Army, with a few other students casting shielding spells to de-escalate everything.

The third team where the teachers, who appeared to be on Snape’s side at first, but were missing spells as they duelled with students. As they got closer, Harry saw Professor McGonagall slip and catch one of the Carrow’s in the ankle, sending them hopping about madly. Flitwick reacted too slowly to a spell, and it struck him across the forehead.

People were turning to the Flying Car and gaping. As if its appearance wasn’t strange enough, Harry could feel that they were starting to lift from the ground. Indeed, as they got closer and closer to the action, they rose above it and the car performed a lazy circle as it made its way to the gates of Hogwarts.

Everyone was gaping up at them, but it didn’t take long for the opposing side to start casting a barrage of spells towards them.

Harry cast _protego_ ¸ and heard Draco do the same from the back seat. Red and green light dissolved into sparks against the invisible shield.

Then, all of a sudden, the car revved, and picked up speed. Much more speed than it ever had before, Harry thought, as they approached the gates. They left Hogwarts behind swiftly – Harry watched the castle disappear in the rear-view mirror. He also saw a very pale looking Draco Malfoy in the back.

They headed into Hogsmede.

“We can’t stay there,” Harry said.

“I know,” Ron said. He was nudging the car and peering over the rooftops. “We’ll pick up Hermione, get our stuff – and –”

Harry did not know where they would go. As far away from Hogwarts as quickly as possible, he supposed. Maybe back to Sirius and Lupin – but he had no idea where they had gone either. They hadn’t said. Knowledge was a dangerous thing to have now.

They arrived at the Hog’s Head in the next few minutes. The streets of Hogsmede were mostly deserted, and the few people who did spot the car hurried into their houses moments later. Harry slouched down in the front seat, hoping that no one recognised him.

“ _Hermione_!” Ron bellowed into the upstairs window of the Hog’s Head.

She appeared at the window moments later, and immediately her eyes widened.

“Ron! What –”

“We have to go,” Harry said. “Chuck us the stuff.”

Hermione was still blinking and stammering as she took in the car.

“ _Now_ , Hermione!” Ron shouted.

She disappeared. A moment later, she was tossing her bag to Ron, who tossed it to Draco in the back. Their sleeping bags followed, just as Aberforth appeared at the window next to her. His jaw dropped at the sight.

“What the ruddy hell –”

“That’s all of it,” Hermione cried. “Let me in.”

Draco opened the window in the back, and took Hermione’s hands to help her in. It was ungraceful, and the car revved loudly, as though it wanted to leave already.

Hermione was still on her back, trying to scramble to a sitting position as Harry called, “thank you for everything, but we have to get going now!”

The car wasn’t waiting any longer. It revved louder, and zoomed away from Hogsmede. He caught a last glimpse of Aberforth, grinning at the car and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Invisibility boosters still busted,” Ron said, jabbing at the button. Even though the car was headed towards the clouds now. Within the next minute, they were hidden in a world of white.

“I’ll fix it when we stop,” Hermione said, breathlessly, having righted herself. She pulled on her seatbelt, and Harry realised that he should have done the same. “Did you get the –”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Think we’d better deal with that when we stop, as well.”

“And where will we be stopping?” Draco asked.

There was a silence. Harry felt Hermione shuffling around behind him, pulling at the chair.

“You don’t have any road maps in here,” she said. “Everyone has a road map in the back of the car.”

“Not everyone’s car has been driving itself around the forbidden forest for years,” Ron snapped. “And last time we just followed the train tracks.”

“Let’s do that,” Harry said. “We pass loads of countryside anyway – when it gets dark, we’ll just land in a forest –” At this, the car’s engine seemed to purr. “And we can figure out where to go from there.”

“Providing there are no death eaters on our tail,” Draco murmured.

It was a sobering thought. Harry saw Ron’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

“Still,” Harry said, because there was a part of him that still felt oddly light. It must have been seeing the car again – it reminded him of when things were simple. “Did you see the look on Snape’s face?”

Ron grinned at him.

Things weren’t simple anymore. But now he was back in the flying car with his best friends – and his – boyfriend, and despite the world going to pieces – there wasn’t anywhere he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): This chapters not completely serious, but I thought it was a fun idea and enjoyed writing it. I like the flying car and the idea of a road trip. But also apparation feels kind of cheaty and they think its how the death eaters are tracking them, so it gives them a mode of transport. And ties in nicely to Mr Weasley's death. 
> 
> I forgot to say last time that there's no real reason they can't just keep the locket in Hermione's bag? Idk, plot convenience of making emotions run high I guess. (Though honestly I've lived with 18 year olds when I was 18 and just being in the same space causes enough arguments without magic, so.)
> 
> As always thank you so so much for the support on this - I really do appreciate your comments! If I don't reply it's because all I can say is 'thank you.' Please do continue to leave thoughts below.
> 
> (Also I have a horror movie review blog now, it's a fun time: sophieisabelturner.wixsite.com/thehorrorofitall )


	11. Chapter Eleven

11

Hermione managed to fix most of the car when they landed. She fixed the invisibility booster, and the windows. The further they got from the castle, the less the car seemed to be able to drive itself. By the time they had settled down in a forest as it dropped dark, it could only rev approval or disproval.

“And we’ll have to clean it up tomorrow, of course,” Hermione said, as she pulled the door open. Ron’s driving had turned her skin quite pale, and her legs were shaky. Draco didn’t look too happy either, as he followed her. The moon wasn’t quite up yet – but it would be soon.

Ron was staring at the steering wheel, with a strange expression on his face.

Harry was desperate to be out of the car as well. He felt drained and exhausted and if he was honest, he hadn’t enjoyed the drive either. It had been bumpy and he had kept looking out of the window to check if they were being followed, and that had made him feel dizzy.

“You alright?” he asked.

Ron nodded, slowly. He patted the steering wheel. “Dad worked on this car for ages…even – even after we lost it, he kept talking about it. It was the thing he was proudest of. Now we have it back.”

“Maybe – maybe that’s why it came back?” Harry suggested. He wasn’t sure if he believed it either, but he liked the thought. “Maybe it knew how you felt.”

“Maybe,” Ron said.

“I’m sure he…” Harry tried to find the right words. “He’d be happy that you got it back.”

“He’d be fighting. With the order. As hard as he could.”

He thought it best not to mention that Mr Weasley wouldn’t have been able to give up his job at the Ministry. “Yeah. He was a good man.”

“Yeah.”

Harry let that moment sit, feeling the wave of guilt hit his chest all over again. Mr Weasley _had_ been good – he had all but taken Harry in as his own. He missed him with a sharp ache, because he had always known what to do. Because he was gentle and funny and kind and Harry missed the Summers he spent explaining muggle things to him.

There was a sharp knock at the window, and they both jumped.

It was Hermione. “We should destroy the locket.”

“Right,” Harry said, and got out of the car.

Ron followed, slowly.

Draco was crouched on the floor, the locket in front of him. It glinted like an eye in the light of his wand. Harry lit his own, but it seemed to do little against the almost purple darkness.

“A fire,” Harry said. “I think we should build a fire, first.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“I just –” Harry shook his head. “I want some light. Warmth. Can’t you feel that? From the locket?”

He hadn’t realised the feeling with everything else going on, and with the locket being in Hermione’s bag. But there was a terrible sense of dread over him as he looked at the locket. The air was colder, and not just because it was night. He felt goosepimples appear all over him and knew that it needed to be well-lit and they had to feel happy before they tackled the horcrux.

“I can,” Draco said. He leant back on his heels. “But _I’m_ not building a fire.”

Harry did. With some help from Hermione. They used summoning charms and incendio to get a campfire going, but Draco stayed staring at the locket, and Ron stayed by the car. They were working with half a team, and that made Harry nervous.

Once they were all bathed with in the flickering, orange light, Harry fished out a basilisk fang from Ron’s backpack. Draco was sat close enough to the fire that when Harry sat next to him, he could feel the heat of it on his cheeks and hands. And yet Draco’s face was as pale as a bone. When Harry put a hand over his, he found that Draco’s fingers were freezing.

“Have you taken the wolfsbane?” Harry murmured.

Draco nodded. His eyes were still on the locket – for a moment it looked as though it was reflected there, but it was just the ever-dancing flames.

“In the car,” Draco replied.

“We need to destroy it.” 

“Right.”

But Draco didn’t move.

“Babe.” Harry squeezed Draco’s fingers – trying to warm them up. “Do you want me to –”

“Don’t.” Draco’s free hand took the locket, and he wiped his thumb across its gold surface. “I – I feel something from it.”

“Well, it won’t be anything good,” Hermione said. She was sat by the fire, casting protective spells around them so that the air became webbed with silvery spells. “It’s pure evil, that thing.”

“That’s exactly what you used to say about me,” Draco snapped back.

“You’re not a horcrux,” Harry said. He moved his hand – to Draco’s thigh instead, because that made him look at Harry. Finally. “This – it’s a piece of Voldemort’s soul.”

“Don’t say the name!” Ron snapped, suddenly. And looked more present than he had done since their escape from Hogsmede. “Just – it feels like a jinx, okay?”

“It’s only a name,” Hermione said.

“Names have power,” Ron said. “Names and words have power. What do you think spells are?”

There was a moment of silence. Harry didn’t quite believe Ron, but he knew it had been a difficult day. If this helped him to feel better, then he would avoid saying Voldemort. They were best friends, after all.

So he took a breath, and continued his train of thought, “it’s a part of – you know who’s soul. It really _is –_ ”

“Evil,” Draco finished. He shook his head and his hair hung limp over his forehead. “What makes magic evil? Wizards used to be killed for any kind of magic – floating a feather was considered evil. What makes the unforgiveable curses _dark_ magic?”

Hermione was looking over at them with furrowed brows and flushed cheeks. Her mouth was open to say something, but Harry held up a hand. He didn’t need to start an argument between them now. If anyone was dealing with Draco, it was him.

“Because they hurt people,” Harry said. “It’s not right to kill people or torture them. No matter what.”

“You’ve never been tempted?” There was something else flickering in Draco’s eyes. Something dark. “Not even once?”

Harry wished he could say never and mean it. But that wouldn’t be true. There had been times when he had wanted to use crucio. After Bellatrix Lestrange killed Mr Weasley. After Snape killed Dumbledore.

After Draco had been hit by that very curse.

No. He had done something worse then. He had cast sectumsempra, and knew that it wasn’t likely the witch had survived. He knew what that spell did. And it was worse than just inflicting pain.

There was a crack from the trees around them.

Harry’s wand was out in moments – and Hermione’s pointed to the sound.

Draco slowly straightened up behind him, still holding the locket.

A man and a woman appeared from the woods. Both wore dark, grungy clothes and had a wild look in their eyes. Harry had the vague feeling that he had seen them somewhere before, but he couldn’t place them.

Their wands were out, and if that wasn’t an indication of their intentions, the woman snapped, “find them, you bloody fool!”

The man stumbled through the woods, somehow avoiding their little bubble with a grim look on his face.

“I cast every shielding spell I know,” Hermione whispered. “They won’t be able to see or hear us.”

The thought still made Harry uneasy. But as he watched, the woman’s gaze slid straight over them. Her face twisted with frustration.

“But we didn’t apparate,” Ron hissed. “How would they find us?”

Hermione shook her head. “Maybe it’s because you basically set fireworks off at Hogwarts! It was meant to be a _covert_ mission.”

“Oh, like you at the Ministry?” Ron shot back.

“We have another problem.” Harry recognised the look on Draco’s face. When he glanced up, he saw that night had come on fast. The full moon would be rising steadily. “The moon.”

“Great,” Hermione sighed.

“Oh, I assure you, the only reason I became a werewolf was to mess with your plans.” Draco snapped.

The man came stumbling back through the woods – “I can’t find them! This whole place is empty.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She put up a hand, her fingers reaching out towards the web of enchantments.

“ _Flippendo_!” Hermione shot into the trees.

Harry took hold of Draco’s arm and started to tug him to the car. He heard the two Death Eaters – for they must be – shout with excitement and run after the sound. The smell of magic filled the air as they fired their wands.

“Will you have enough room in the back to transform?” Harry asked Draco, as he opened the door. He was moving stiffly, his face frozen as he glared at the ground. A muscle twitched at his temple, and his lips were twisted.

But Draco nodded.

Hermione was casting stupefy. After the sound of two bodies hitting the floor, she stepped from their enchanted camp and out into the woods. To erase their memories, Harry guessed.

Draco gripped Harry’s arm. So tightly that he wasn’t sure if they were nails or claws he could feel in his skin.

“Weasley,” Draco managed to whisper.

Harry nodded.

“Ron?” he asked. “Could you – give us some space?”

“What?” Ron turned. He’d been staring at the trees with a strange expression on his face – something triumphant? Or worried? Harry couldn’t tell. But then Ron seemed to realise the situation. “No,” he said. “You’ll get dog hair all over the back seat.”

“Have you seen the car lately?” Harry found himself snapping. “This is the only covered, safe place now – just – please!”

He was helping Draco down and into the backseat.

Ron stared at them both for a moment, face etched with concern and frustration. But then he sighed. And nodded. And headed closer to the fire, his back towards them. Harry heard him explain the situation to Hermione as she reappeared from the woods.

“The locket,” Harry said to Draco. “Pass me the locket.”

Draco fumbled with it, moving in stiff jerks. A low moan came from the back of his throat and Harry felt his heart squeeze. He’d never seen it before – not the transformation – not the pain that came with it. And he felt awful that his priority was the locket, but he knew that it could only make everything worse.

It was ice cold in Harry’s palm, and he slipped it into his pocket immediately.

“Go.” Draco’s voice was a high whine.

“I love you.” Harry had not said it enough recently. He went to kiss Draco, but his head was ducked down and he was tucked as far into himself as possible.

So Harry closed the car door, and leant against it. He could hear thumps from inside – could hear that high whine, but longer now. A desperate cry of an animal in pain.

He gritted his teeth, pulling at his hair with both hands so that it hurt. So that he could focus on that pain, and not the sting in his chest. Not the crushing feeling of helplessness that he had about the situation.

There was silence at the campfire.

And then a bark came from the back seat.

He turned his head to see a very familiar, pale grey wolf sat in the car.

Ron and Hermione had turned to the sound too.

“Is he…” Ron trailed off.

“He’s fine,” Harry said. “I’ll – stay in the back. With him.”

“I have a tent,” Hermione said. “I was just about to get it out – it’s enchanted, so there’s plenty of room.”

Harry shook his head. The locket was heavy in his pocket, and it felt as though it was pulling all of him down. He was tired. Dead tired from this day and the last. And the locket was heavy – heavy and felt like a cold hand gripping his skin.

He opened the car door, and climbed into the back seat. Immediately greeted by warm fur and a cold snout. Harry collapsed into the wolf, and felt the wolf fold into him. They fell, in a muddle, across the back seat. Draco’s paws were heavy on his chest, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s fine,” he whispered. “Tomorrow we’ll destroy the locket, and then…”

Then they only had to find the other four.

*

Harry’s back hurt. All the way up to his neck.

Sleeping in the back seat of a car wasn’t a fun experience. Not with a huge wolf on his chest. And yes, Draco had transformed back now, but he was still heavy as a human.

Harry moved quietly, holding Draco and shuffling so that he could lower him onto the seat. He slipped out of the car, quietly, and into the clearing. There was a white tent erected by the dead bonfire – the wood black and charred. He crept over to it, and peered into the tent. Hermione and Ron were buried deep in sleeping bags, side by side so that it looked like two caterpillars were on the pressed against each other.

Hermione’s bag was by the door, and Harry summoned a change of clothes for Draco from them.

When he got back to the car, and tossed them unceremoniously in, he found that his boyfriend was awake.

“Good morning to you too.” Draco said from underneath a button up shirt.

“I didn’t think Hermione would appreciate you going commando,” Harry explained.

“What about you?” Draco was shimmying into a pair of Harry’s jeans. “Do you appreciate it?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair, and tried not to let his face overheat. Draco’s skin looked white in the overcast day, and there was a leftover sheen of sweat from his transformation that made it seem like he was glowing. Harry’s eyes were drawn to the hollow of his neck, his shoulders, his collarbones, his stomach. Admiring all the rises and falls of the creature that was Draco Malfoy. He hadn’t thought about it until they had started – this – but he liked the shape of Draco. Liked looking over those shapes.

“It’s not morning, anyway,” Draco said. He shrugged the shirt on, and began doing the buttons. He glanced up, blonde strands hanging in front of grey eyes. “After I transformed back, I fell asleep.”

Harry blinked, then checked his watch. It was mid-afternoon.

“I suppose we’d better get moving,” he said.

“And go where?”

Harry didn’t have an answer to that. He didn’t know. But he knew that they were on the lamb and the best thing to do on the lamb was to keep moving. Keep running. And hope they could stay out of the Death Eater’s way.

“By the way – and, excuse the pun.” Draco climbed out of the car, putting a hand on Harry’s chest to steady himself. And Harry could smell the wolf musk on him – put an arm around his waist just to _feel_ him. “But I’m hungry as a wolf.”

“There’s food in Hermione’s bag.”

Draco smirked. He pressed against Harry, so close that his nose traced Harry’s cheek. “Then be a good boy and get it.”

“Get it yourself, Malfoy.” Even as Harry said it, his mouth was against Draco’s neck. “I’m not your servant.”

“No, you wish you were.”

“I’ve never done anything you tell me to do.”

“Exactly. Imagine if you did.” Draco nipped Harry’s ear. “Imagine if you _had_ to.”

“And you thought my fantasy was weird,” Harry murmured, feeling warm. Feeling prickly and uncomfortable, but not completely opposed to the thought.

Draco chuckled. He pulled Harry closer. “Food, trouble.”

“ _Fine_.” Harry kept a hand on Draco’s arms, holding them together as he headed back over to the tent. Hermione and Ron were still sound asleep, and Harry didn’t want to wake them. Couldn’t when he was the reason they felt so tired.

Aberforth had given them food – a few cans of beans, a loaf of bread – some cheese and a packet of bacon. Harry used one of the cans, and took the loaf with him. Draco wrinkled his nose at the prospect, but he found himself content. Beans on toast made Harry think of being a child. Whilst it hadn’t been a happy time – he’d always been happy when he’d had food.

He relit the fire, and there was a pot in Hermione’s bag so cook with.

“The locket,” Draco said, when Harry had sat down, levitating the pot with his wand.

“What about it?” Harry asked.

“I want it.” And for a moment, there was a strange look on Draco’s face. A look of greed and desire that made Harry think of one ring to rule them all.

He could feel the locket in his jeans. And when he put his hand there, it felt as though it was throbbing in his grip. Almost like a second heart beat.

“I have it safe,” Harry said, but he felt nervous. Nervous about giving it to Draco. Nervous about giving it up.

“Do you know who it belonged to?” Dracos’ eyes were on Harry’s pocket, as though he could see through the fabric to the little gold locket.

“Regulus.”

“Before that.” Draco paused for a moment. He shuffled closer to Harry, his brows drawn. “That’s Salazar Slytherin’s.”

Harry couldn’t help it – he pulled out the locket and stared at the ‘S’ on it. A dozen tiny emeralds glinted back at him.

“That S could stand for anything,” he murmured. And yet, in the low light of the fire, it looked almost alive.

“ _Mon ange,_ it’s not just an ‘s.’ It’s a snake.”

Harry could believe that, but it didn’t meant that he wanted to. He stared at the locket, and it seemed to stare back at him.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked. He covered the locket with his fingers.

“Because I grew up with a family who had all been in Slytherin. The things that marked his heir were taught alongside the alphabet.” Draco shook his head. “We can’t destroy a priceless artefact.”

“We have to.” There was that flurry of anger from inside Harry again. Priceless artefact. Voldemort was destroying culture as well as the world. He prised at the clasp of the locket, but it wouldn’t open.

Draco scoffed, and when Harry turned to him, he shook his head. “Salazar _Slytherin’s_ locket, Potter? Three guesses how we get inside.”

Ah. Parseltongue.

The locket seemed to hear that – seemed to quiver in his hand as though it liked that idea. And before Harry could think it through, he had whispered, “ _open_ ,” to it.

Immediately, the little golden doors swung open. There were two panes in the locket – for just a moment revealing that beyond there was dark velvet. But an eye appeared over the top – a dark eye that Harry only recognised because he had been in the Chamber of Secrets the day before. It was Tom Riddle’s eye.

The eye blinked at him, and he blinked back, oddly reminded of Sirius’ long distance mirror.

Draco’s hand appeared on his wrist. And he jumped because he hadn’t remembered that Draco was even sat next to him.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked. “You can’t –“

A strange, small hiss stopped him in his tracks. A tiny voice that felt as though it was coming from right behind Harry’s ear.

_Ssssssscared._

Draco’s grip tightened. His eyes were wide, and he stared at Harry helplessly.

 _He’s sssscared_ , the voice continued. _Alwaysssss hassss been_.

Harry looked down at the locket to see that the eye had vanished. There was, instead, the image of a very fine dining room. The image looked in from just in front of the door – just enough so that Harry could see a much shorter, younger version of Draco Malfoy pressed against the wall. His father was inside, talking to two other figures.

_He knew. Knew sssso many ssecretssss, and never ssssaid._

“Harry,” Draco whispered. And that was usually enough to get him to stop whatever he was doing and look up. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the locket. Couldn’t stop watching the montage of Draco’s listening to his father’s conversations – of going into Borgins and Burkes with him – of the Quidditch World Cup. Using a portkey to get away whilst his father left the tent, slipping on a Death Eater’s Mask as he did.

Increasingly, Draco’s face was pale and taut. As he got older, he seemed more concerned.

“You knew?” Harry murmured. “That the Death Eaters were going to –“

“Who would believe me if I said?” Draco asked. He shook Harry’s hand, so that the locket juddered, and he looked back into another pale, taut face. “The Death Eaters were a thing of the past, no one –“

“I would have.”

“You least of all.” There was bite in Draco’s voice. But it wasn’t undeserved. He was right. Harry wouldn’t have trusted a thing out of Draco’s mouth back then.

 _He kept ssssecretssss._ The locket’s voice was in Harry’s ear once more. _Even now, he wantsss to leave._

Draco shook his head at Harry, but it was too late. He was already looking at the locket again – watching a Draco packing his things in the dead of night whilst Harry slept. That had been Lupin’s apartment. The night they left for Paris.

_He wasss going to leave without sssaying goodbye…sssstill going to do the sssame._

Draco was silent. His nails were digging into Harry’s skin. 

He wouldn’t. Harry knew that he wouldn’t. And yet he found himself wavering. Draco was going to do it once – why not again?

_Ssssssstill keeps sssecretssss…_

It was showing more recent memories now. Memories from last year – of Harry and Draco arguing. He remembered it well – remembered being desperate to know what was happening to Draco in his own Common Room.

“I told you.” Draco’s voice was just as small, in his other ear. “I told you everything.”

But it had taken a while. And it hadn’t been in detail. Now he was seeing it – was seeing Draco held in place whilst Blaise Zabini kicked – and kicked – of a Draco under the imperius curse – he had to be, because –

Draco – the real Draco’s – hand lashed out – gripped Harry’s other wrist tightly, and had the basilisk fang halfway to the locket before he could fight back. Harry resisted – because he had to see – he had to know exactly what happened –

 _Assssk how he got hisss bite markssss_.

Draco shook his head, pulling Harry’s wrist towards him. “Not that, Harry. Please.”

“You haven’t told me.” Harry’s voice sounded far away, even to himself.

“I don’t have to tell you everything. That’s not – that’s not how people work.”

“You don’t tell me anything!” He was shouting now, and he was sure that he was going to wake Ron and Hermione, but he didn’t care.

“I do!” Draco snapped. He let go of Harry – with a little push so that he found himself losing his balance. “I told you what happened – don’t you think that including the details – thinking about it too long – hurts? That I don’t want you knowing every last detail because it’s bad enough that it happened. Bad enough that _I_ have to live with the – the _shame_ – and the _hate_ – and maybe I was trying to spare you from knowing every last _violation_ that happened to _me. Me –_ not you.”

The locket’s voice was fainter now. Fainter, but still there.

 _Bite marksssss_.

And Harry knew that if he looked down at the glass, he would see what happened. Would see Greyback biting Draco whilst Death Eater’s watched. It was something that haunted him – something that he thought of whenever Draco let his guard down and Harry saw the puckered, red mark on his forearm.

Something that he thought he had to know.

But Draco was there – and his eyes were shining because they were damp. And he looked so small, and so tired and so _scared_ – that Harry didn’t look down. The hand with the Basilisk fang wavered.

It happened lightning fast.

Draco took hold of Harry’s wrist and flung it down. Before he could stop him. He heard the sound of something shattering. And then Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s middle – pulled him to him. He was shaking.

Harry held Draco close. And it took him a moment to realise that he wasn’t holding the locket, or the basilisk fang. Another moment to remember that the beans were on the fire and to recognise the smell of burning.

“Blimey,” he heard Ron’s voice, but it sounded very far away indeed. “You couldn’t have waited for us to have breakfast?”

He heard Hermione shushing him – heard Ron yelp as she no doubt slapped his shoulder – and then tell him that she hadn’t even hit him that hard.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, into Draco’s hair. His chest was heavy and he felt raw.

“I love you.” Draco’s voice was thick. “I didn’t want you to know, because I love you.”

“I love you too.” Harry kissed the top of Draco’s head. Hermione and Ron had retreated back into the tent now, but he could still hear the bickering. “And you are brave. To do this – to come here – to be with me.”

“Well.” Draco sniffed. But Harry could hear the smile in his voice as he said –

“Brave enough to destroy a priceless antique.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): I still stand by Snape sending a patronus and knowing where they are as ??? hmmm??? I quite like the sword in the lake for a reference to Arthurian Legend (though I doubt that was the intent) though.
> 
> I also think Ron arguing in the tent is a very good moment in the book. Quinn Curio does a really good job of explaining it here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCzxwcBZFuI Ron was actually my favourite for a long time so he will still have a horcrux-destroying moment.
> 
> As always thank you so much for the comments - if I can't reply it's because I can't say anything other than thank you! <3 Do leave your thoughts on this chapter, if only to let me know you're still here! <3 
> 
> And I will see you next week xx


	12. 12

“What now?”

Ron asked it. After they had finished eating. Draco sat with his back against Harry’s side, staring out into the woods in silence. The broken locket lay on the grass, amongst the ashes from the fire. He had not looked it at since.

It was a fair question. But it was also the one Harry had been dreading, so it irked him. What now, indeed?

“We get further away from Hogwarts,” Hermione said, as though it was simple. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail as she spoke. “We have the car, and I’ve fixed the invisibility booster as best I can – though there’s such a muddle of charms on it already that I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“But where do we _go_?” Ron asked. He looked from her to Harry. “What’s the next horcrux?”

They were looking at him. Both looking at him because he was meant to be their leader. He was meant to know these things. They were expecting him to be clever and brilliant and lead the way.

“Well.” It was just to say _something_. “The ones so far have been hidden in places that meant a lot to Vold-“

“You know who,” Ron interrupted. He looked around him, as though Death Eaters were going to burst out of the trees any moment. But then, they had last night – so maybe that wasn’t so strange.

“Whatever – they were in places that meant a lot to him. Maybe – Little Hangleton? He was born there.”

“And hated his parents,” Draco muttered.

“Or – the orphanage he stayed at – that was in London.”

“I’d rather not go anywhere near London at the moment,” Hermione said. She stood, and stamped her foot on the ground. “I’d rather know _where_ we even are. We should find the nearest muggle town and buy a road map first.”

“Yeah,” Harry echoed. Maybe it would sound like his idea. “Let’s pack up camp and do that.”

Draco gave a low snort next to him. He stayed on the log, as the three of them packed up the tent and shoved Hermione’s bag in the boot of the car. It didn’t take long, though Hermione then insisted on cleaning up the car – just in case they took any muggle roads – and Ron elected to join her. They got to work on the mud, twigs and everything else that had attached itself to the car.

Harry knelt down in front of Draco. Right in front of him. So that he had to look at Harry.

“Are you okY?”

Draco looked at him. He raised an eyebrow by a fraction, and for a moment looked absolutely disgusted by Harry. But then his smiled – covering his mouth with his hands as his shoulders shook.

“Never change,” Draco said. He shook his head. His hair was loose, and fell over his forehead, so that he had to push it back, still smiling with that raised eyebrow as he looked down. “’What’s wrong?’ As if none of that just happened.”

Harry rocked back on his heels. Shrugged. “Average day in the life of the Chosen One.”

“Stop that.” Draco’s smile slipped. “We’re pawns. Pawns in Dumbledore’s game and nothing more.”

Harry paused. He took Draco’s hands in his own. Rubbed his thumbs over the back of them.

“Good thing I’m excellent at chess.”

Draco scoffed. Harry tightened his grip.

“I know you don’t want to be here – to do this – but –“

“We have no choice?”

“–We have to do this.”

“Because of a prophecy you don’t believe?”

“Because – because it’s the right thing,” Harry said. He looked down at their hands. His brown ones over Draco’s. “Because last time – my parents made the decision to fight, even though they didn’t have to. Before the prophecy, they fought for what was right. And that’s what I want to do.”

Draco softened. Slightly. “And what happens to the people who do what’s right, Harry?”

The words still hurt. Hit a part of Harry that had never healed over. Stabbed straight in.

“What happens to the people who don’t?” he countered, and grey eyes fell away from his. His mouth twisted. Thinking of his father, pressed under Voldemort’s thumb, and his mother, who had disappeared without a trace.

Harry brought their linked hands to his mouth, holding them tightly. “Even – even if we ran and did nothing – innocent bystanders are killed every day. Better to die by doing what’s right, than doing anything else.”

Draco’s hand went to Harry’s hair. Carded through it as he sighed.

“Spoken like a true Gryffindor.”

Harry smiled. And stood, using their hands to pull Draco up. He kissed him, and kept their lips close as he whispered, “that’s why you love me.”

There was a shriek, as Ron opened the glove compartment, and a huge spider came out of the car. It scuttled off into the woods. If any muggles were nearby, they’d have the treat of meeting a spider the size of a cat.

“You don’t – after – you still –“ Draco was looking at the locket, and then to Harry, biting his lip.

Harry’s thumb teased it out. “Forget it. Do you want to bring your priceless antique with you?”

Draco picked it up from the ashes, and closed it. The front was still as brilliant as ever, even though dirt had gotten in around the emeralds. He nodded, and fastened it around his neck, under his shirt. Harry watched him closely, but there was none of that strange darkness that had been about him the previous night.

“Aren’t you the heir?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. “I can only speak parseltongue because of –“ He tapped his scar.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, as though Harry said something perplexing. He paused for a moment, then opened his mouth.

Hermione called out “are you two coming?” before he could say anything.

The car was back to a bright blue, even if it was still missing both wing mirrors. Ron sat in the driver’s seat, grinning and patting the steering wheel as if it was a very large dog. The car seemed to be rumbling in approval. Hermione stood at the passenger side door, looking rested. Ready.

Harry wasn’t. He wasn’t rested – wasn’t ready to hunt down the rest of the Horcruxes – had no idea where to even start or what to do.

But when had he ever been?

*

They found the nearest town. And Ron bundled into a news agent with Hermione’s leftover muggle money, in a scarf and a hoodie pulled over his face, despite the fact it was only early September. He came out with a roadmap, and arms full of pop, crisps and chocolate.

Hermione stared at the map as Ron drove them back out of town. As soon as they were out of view, on a little road through the countryside, they were back up in the air – invisible once more.

Draco and Harry sprawled in the back, legs on the chairs in front, or resting on the open windows. He found himself leaning against him, resting his head on Draco’s chest as he carded his fingers through his hair. This was nice – the feeling of weightlessness. Seeing clouds pass by the windows in huge turrets and valleys. It was like a different world. A fantasy, far away from Horcruxes and everything else.

“I was thinking,” Harry said, though he was half asleep and he suspected that Draco was dozing too. He was always more tired, at this time of month. “I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”

“Godric’s Hollow?” Hermione repeated from the front. She was holding the map with one hand, and holding a bag of crisps out to Ron with the other. “Why?”

“My –“ No, Harry didn’t think anyone would be impressed if he said that reason. He searched for another one. “Dumbledore. He lived there. Maybe he – left something for us there. Research notes.”

“Where’s Godric’s Hollow, Ron?” Hermione said. “Oh maybe this wasn’t a good idea, there’s no wizard places on here.”

“Well, of course not,” Ron said. “But it’s a map. Godric’s Hollow isn’t too far from home – if we head Devon way, we’ll be able to find it.”

“That’s an eight hour drive!”

“We can take it in turns.” Ron shrugged. “Or take a break. Whatever. But Harry’s right – can’t hurt to see if Dumbledore’s left anything there. And Little Hangleton isn’t too far from that, maybe he hid something there. Not much of a detour at all.”

They continued bickering, but Harry found it strangely soothing. It made it seem like everything was back to normal. He found himself drifting off. But his dreams were troubled. Not searching, like it had been the last few times. He had found the person now.

But he still didn’t have what he wanted.

When Harry woke up, slowly and groggily, it was evening. The sky was full of pinks and ambers – the clouds just wisps around them.

Ron and Hermione were still bickering, but about something else now.

“You can’t just conjure food out of thin air, Ronald.”

“My mum bloody can.”

“She _can’t_. No one can. It’s one of the basic laws of transfiguration.”

“And I suppose you’re telling me I should have paid attention in class.”

“Well, you should have. How do you expect to get a job when you don’t even have NEWTs?”

Draco’s arms tightened around Harry. He buried his face into his shoulder, groaning slightly.

“And how am I expected to sleep with this row going on?” he muttered.

“Welcome to my world,” Draco replied.

Ron was still going off. “I’ll just say – sorry, that year there were a bunch of Death Eaters at Hogwarts, and I was busy saving the world.”

“Oh, just you? Saving the whole world? By yourself?”

They were starting to descend. Harry recognised the feeling in his gut, and saw the clouds slowly disappear as they got lower and lower. He sat up.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

“Dinner,” Ron said.

“Because Ron hasn’t gorged himself enough –“ Hermione added.

“I’m the driver. I require sustenance.”

Hermione laughed, and shook her head. Though there was a smile tugging at her lips.

“And now –“ Ron twisted in his seat. “She wants us to go foraging for mushrooms. Like skunks, or something.”

“We still have food from Sirius.” But when Harry looked, he realised there was very little from Aberforth and Sirius’ stash.

They landed, in the middle of the countryside. Everything was rolling green fields around them, and there was a river not too far away. The horizons were neatly marked with spidery trees. A lot of firs – the rest had lost their leaves.

It was autumn, Harry realised with a start. And there was a chill in the air. He pressed further into his jumper – no, it was Draco’s. It smelt of his posh aftershave.

They pulled a couple of fish from the river with accio and made a go of cooking them, for something to eat with the bread from Aberforth, and another can of beans. It was Harry who had the stomach to split them open and pick the bones out, getting his fingers thoroughly drenched with fish scales and blood.

Well, he supposed there was enough metaphorical blood on his hands, anyway.

They set the tent back up, and once it started to get properly dark – properly cold – Ron and Hermione retreated inside. Harry could hear them talking softly, bickering every now and then, but he was starting to realise that it wasn’t mean spirited. Hermione never bickered with him like that – as though he would be able to hold his own against her. Ron could.

He stayed by the fire with Draco – who opened up his jacket and let Harry inside of it, holding it around both of them. It was, unsurprisingly, one of Harry’s – a hand me down from Dudley’s – and huge.

“I didn’t think you liked my clothes,” Harry murmured. He nuzzled his mouth against Draco’s neck, and felt him smirk.

“Well, I’m slumming it now, aren’t I?” Draco replied. His fingers slipped underneath Harry’s t-shirt – very cold from the night air.

“I’m so flattered that you’d slum it for me.” He nipped at Draco’s neck – over old love bites – and Draco hummed appreciatively.

“After this.” His fingers ghosted up Harry’s waist – featherlight so that he shivered. “You’re seeing me in my natural habitat. Playing piano at cocktail parties and going to dances.”

“What are you? A nineteen twenties debutante?” Harry’s breath caught as his shirt hitched up, letting the cold air get to his stomach. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck, feeling, rather than hearing him laugh. “You don’t want me there. I’m much too –“

“Much too?” Draco ducked his chin – so that their numb noses bumped as he blindly searched for Harry’s mouth. His was warm – so warm.

“Me.” Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s mouth. “Can you imagine me at a fancy party?”

Much too scruffy and awkward and didn’t have any of the right clothes, didn’t know anything to say.

Draco hummed. He took hold of Harry’s cheeks, pushed him gently away so that they were looking at each other.

“Yes. You looked good at the wedding. With your hair back –“ He pushed Harry’s back, messing with it so that it was styled in a way that made Harry feel like Danny Zuko. “And a proper tux. Maybe different glasses.”

“My glasses are kind of my thing,” Harry said, though at this moment they were so smeared, he could barely see out of them. “Would you really want me to be you-ified?”

Draco chuckled. His thumb ran over Harry’s bottom lip – he opened his mouth on instinct.

“For a day. Or two,” he said. And maybe there it was – that glint of possessiveness. “But that’s not the boy I fell in love with, is it, trouble?”

*

They continued heading towards Godric’s Hollow. The next morning, they parked behind a muggle supermarket to buy more food. Draco knew a spell to transfigure pebbles into coins, which Ron said he’d heard of, but that it was illegal.

“Is that how your family is so rich?” Hermione asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Wears off after a couple of hours, and our Gringotts vault isn’t full of stones.”

It was illegal, and it would be breaking the statue of secrecy, but none of that seemed to matter anymore. They sandwiches and more crisps. Chocolate and sweet sharing bags that they kept in the middle of the car. Nothing substantial, but stuff that tasted good.

This was what normal teenagers did, Harry thought. They went on road trips, ate junk and had fun. And it was fun, with Ron driving and getting to be sprawled in the back with Draco. Maybe they should have worn seatbelts, but it wasn’t like there was much traffic up here, anyway.

Ron got the radio to work, and they still managed to pick up wizarding stations, catching _The Wyrd Sisters_ and _‘A cauldron full of hot, steaming love_.’ And then it happened – Ron was tapping along to the music on the radio, whilst he and Hermione bickered about what to do next. He happed to say that “Aberforth was a right geezer for giving us a place to stay.”

And then the radio crackled. And cut out for a moment.

“Oh, well done, Ron!” Hermione snapped.

But a familiar voice came out of it the next moment.

“-Suspect there will be an absence in broadcasts in the next day or so – given that those charming Death Eaters are doing checks in our area.”

The four of them stared at each other. It really wasn’t that different from hearing the same voice broadcast over the Quidditch pitch. That was what made it so strange.

“That’s Lee Jordan,” Harry said, needlessly.

“What’s he doing on the radio?” Hermione asked, but was quickly shushed.

“-Secure location,” Lee finished. “And now we have one regular – our dear Royal – and a new guest Padfoot on today.”

Harry felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. He leant forward, so that his face was pressed between the two front seats, despite Draco’s protestations.

“Evening.” That was unmistakably Kingsley Shacklebolt.

And then, “hi.”

Sirius. He was alive. Alive and well enough to talk to Lee Jordan on – whatever this was.

“Pirate radio,” Ron said. “Neville mentioned it, remember?”

“And we’d like to be able to hear it, Weasley,” Draco said, though not unkindly.

“-Murder of Ted Tonks and David Cresswell. Found travelling the countryside. Evidence of Death Eaters at the scene, looking for information on the undesirable number one.”

The elation Harry had felt at hearing Sirius’ voice was quickly overcome by a horrible, sick feeling. Ted Tonks. The kind man who had helped mend Harry after he went headfirst over a motorbike.

They had slowed in the sky, as Ron and Hermione stared at the tiny face of the radio. Harry felt Draco’s hand on his shoulder.

“A goblin was also found dead at the scene. We believe that Dean Thomas and another goblin were travelling with them and escaped. If any listeners know their whereabouts, or if they are listening, the Thomas family are desperate for news and the Gringotts staff are concerned about their missing colleague.”

“Dean?” Ron repeated. He ran his hand through his hair, so that it stuck straight up.

“Seamus must be out of his mind with worry,” Harry said. He remembered his fifth year – at walking in on them at inopportune times. They’d basically helped him come out – were his godparents of being gay, and he was surged with the desperate need to find Dean.

“If he knows,” Draco murmured.

Harry wasn’t sure which was worse.

“– Muggle family of five found dead in their home. Their authorities have deemed it a gas leak, but Royal here has confirmed that they were victims of the killing curse. We don’t know why the Death Eaters would choose to target that family, but our hearts go out to them and their relatives.”

There were so many people caught in the cross hairs of this war. Normal muggles, and every one of their relatives, struck by what they thought was an accident, when it was a hate crime. It was the senseless violence that was the worst part about all of this.

“We invite everyone to join us for a minute of silence for Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell and the Muggle family named the Jacksons.”

The radio went quiet, and so did the car. And Harry knew that he should remain silent, but he couldn’t, when all he could think of was Ted Tonks’ kind face. Of telling them to call Tonks ‘they.’ He wondered if they ever did.

“He was killed because of me,” Harry whispered.

“You don’t know that,” Hermione replied.

“I was at their house. It was where me and Hagrid headed, after the Dursleys.”

Another long pause.

“Then what about his wife?” Hermione asked.

Harry couldn’t answer. He could only hope that side of the story had a more positive ending.

Draco’s arm went around his shoulders, and pulled him close. Close enough that he could hear his heartbeat under his jumper, and he could almost hear what Draco was dying to say. That it would be easier to get out now, and not look back. Not think about all of the faces of the people that were going to die. To save themselves.

But he would also comfort Harry. Would tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That Ted Tonks made a choice. That evil people did evil things and they couldn’t be there constantly to stop them.

That didn’t make it any easier.

“Thank you.” Lee Jordan’s voice sounded thick over the radio. “And now we turn to regular contributor, Royal, for an update on how the new wizarding order is affecting the Muggle World.”

“Thanks River.” Yes, that was Kingsley. “Muggle authorities don’t seem to have made connections between the calamities befalling the country, concentrated in the London and Greater London area. We have reports of wizarding families, unnamed for their protection, stepping in to protect muggles from further attacks. There are a few young wizards who seem to be thriving off the chaos of the Death Eaters and are tormenting Muggles for the fun of it, alongside the organised groups. I urge your listeners to cast a few protective charms over any nearby Muggle houses. That will save lives.”

“And what about the wizards who are declaring it should be ‘wizards first?’” Lee asked.

“Those wizards should re-evaluate the danger they are in versus the danger Muggles are in. Wizards can protect themselves; Muggles are unaware of this war. If we don’t keep them safe from this, then are we any better than the ones attacking them?”

“Well put, as always. You have my vote for minister of magic, Royal,” Lee said. “And now, onto our new guest Padfoot for the Pals of Potter segment.”

“Thanks.” Sirius’ voice came through thickly.

“Do you maintain that Harry Potter is still alive?”

“If he’s managed to get killed in the four days since I last saw him, then I’d be impressed at his efforts, mate.”

Harry found himself grinning. It _had_ only been a few days, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t missed Sirius’ voice. Missed the sarcasm and the sparkle in his eye.

“Well, we have reports from an inside source that Potter visited Hogwarts the other day,” Lee continued. “Do you know why that would be?”

“I would guess it’s part of his larger plan,” Sirius spoke slowly. “Dumbledore instructed Harry on the steps needed to win this war.”

“So, he has a plan?” There was such _hope_ in Jordan’s voice that Harry felt his stomach swirl in on itself. No, they had no plan. Had never had a plan.

“Of sorts,” Sirius replied.

“Do you know the details?”

“I do. But I don’t think it would be prudent to share them.”

“And will this plan work, Padfoot?” Lee pressed. “How long will it be until we know if this plan has worked?”

There was a pause that seemed horribly long, but was only a few moments. Harry leant away from Draco, and pressed himself further forward.

“We can only hope,” Sirius finally said. Then added, “I have faith in him. This is the same boy who cast a corporeal patronus at thirteen.”

Harry’s chest swelled. Swelled as though there was a balloon inside it that was doing its best to burst his ribcage. It was just like hearing ‘son’ from Sirius’ mouth a few days ago. He could cast a corporeal patronus right this second, if he needed to.

“Excellently put!” Lee exclaimed. “And finally, we have reports on the big man himself. Several, actually, and if all of these sightings are correct then there are several people who must not be named running around the country, as well as abroad. What do our guests make of that?”

“An old friend would say vigilance,” Kingsley Shacklebolt said. “Constant vigilance. Rumours of He Who Must Not Be Named being abroad mean nothing. His followers are everywhere and the man can move as fast as he needs to.”

“Royal’s right,” Sirius added. “Keep as much information to yourself as possible. You never know who you can trust.”

“Right again,” Lee said. “Safety first everyone. Let’s remember that we are British – keep calm, carry on and we’ll all get through this. That takes us to the end of today’s show. We don’t have a strict schedule because if we did, we’d have to get paid for this!” It was clear he meant that they wouldn’t know when they would be able to air again. “Keep fiddling with those dials and next time, use the password Mad-Eye. Goodnight, listeners.”

The radio crackled, and then fell silent, leaving behind a heady excitement in the car.

Ron started it up again, grinning. “Wicked.”

“They’re so brave.” Hermione was still gazing at the radio, her eyes shining. “I mean, imagine if they get caught.”

“Well, they’re keeping on the move, aren’t they?” Ron said, he dipped them closer to the ground to make out a village below them. He grinned at Harry in the rear-view mirror. “And at least we know Sirius and Lupin are safe, right?”

Harry tried to grin back. “Right.”

“Harry?” Hermione turned, frowning. “What’s wrong? I know that it’s terrible news about the muggles and Mr Tonks, but people are out there! Fighting!”

Harry nodded, though he fell back in his seat, and frowned out of the window. It had been such a rollercoaster of emotions that he felt exhausted, now.

Draco was watching him. He leant back too, and his foot nudged Harry’s leg.

“Potter’s upset because there’s a show all about him,” he said.

He’d guessed it in one. Harry nodded. They all made him out to be some huge hero – someone who was capable of saving everyone. He wasn’t. And he was nothing without his friends.

“Well – you’re the Chosen One,” Hermione said. “And they have to find hope in a figurehead. That’s just how wars work. It’s like Winston Churchill and World War Two.”

But Harry did not want to be Winston Churchill. He wanted to be _Harry_ and he wanted his friends to be acknowledged. He wanted people to expect less of him, because he had no idea where the last horcruxes were and had no idea how to go about finding them.

The car fell silent. They had passed over the little village, and were heading to another one. One that might be Godric’s Hollow. Where Harry’s parents had died. Protecting him.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Ron asked into the silence. He had the knack of ploughing through awkward silences and distracting everyone. “That they think you-know-who’s abroad?”

“Gregorovitch,” Draco said. “Didn’t Potter say he was looking for Gregorovitch?”

“I think he found him,” Harry said. “But he didn’t get what he wanted from him. Now he’s found whatever poor person _has_ what he wants.”

“It must be a wand,” Hermione tapped her fingers on the dashboard as she thought. “If Harry’s doesn’t work against his, then he must be looking for a new one.”

“Still – we all know he has Ollivander?” Ron asked. “That’s a long way to go for a new wand when you’ve got a maker locked up.”

“Ties with Grindlewald?” Draco suggested. “A wand more capable of doing dark magic.”

“ _I_ thought that you had broken your connection, Harry.” Hermione took the opportunity to scold him. “You’re meant to be practising occlumency.”

“ _I_ thought I’d told you that it’s still really hard to practice occlumency when I’m asleep. You try lucid dreaming, Hermione, it’s harder than you think.”

“It might be helpful,” Draco said. His hand found Harry’s thigh, stroking it soothingly in a way that made his stomach perform a complicated acrobatic routine. “To have a mole on the inside.”

“It’s dangerous,” Hermione said.

“Oh, I’ll protect our dear little chosen one,” Draco drawled. His hand went from Harry’s leg, to his chin, turning him from the window to kiss him. Deeply. Much more deeply than was necessary, Harry thought, though he wasn’t about to complain.

“How on earth can you keep eye contact when you’re snogging someone?” he heard Hermione ask, but she sounded far away. Draco’s tongue in his mouth had that effect on him. He couldn’t remember what they had been talking about – was more occupied thinking about his hands creasing Draco’s shirt.

Draco chuckled against him, and gave his bottom lip a final swipe with his tongue, before he pulled away.

“Just one of my many skills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): A more fluffy chapter to keep things light after last week lmao  
> I made the money spell up because I can. (And if anyone knows about illegal magic, it would be Draco.) It's kind of a borrowed idea from Fullmetal Alchemist, greatest show of our time. I feel like it's not universe breaking if the money times out.  
> Thank you all once again for the lovely comments!!   
> I'll update next week xx


	13. 13

13

They decided it was best to camp on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow, and to explore it the next evening. It was best they didn’t go out in the day. Not without Polyjuice potion or any number of charms that would disguise their appearance. Obviously, Harry was the biggest risk, but after the incident at the Ministry, authorities were sure to be on the lookout for Hermione. And after Hogwarts – Draco and Ron were in trouble too.

There was only one invisibility cloak, and Hermione had been right when she pointed out that only one of them could fit under it now. It made Harry ache for the days when they were little. When they could all go on adventures and not leave anyone behind. When the world was big, but that seemed wonderful and exciting, not frightening and deadly. And if it was deadly, then that was all the more magical.

So, they spent a tedious evening in the tent. Hermione poured over the book Dumbledore had given her, and Ron was trying to listen to the Quidditch scores, though the portable radio kept dipping in and out. It was a wonder they were still playing. Quidditch felt much too normal considering what else was happening.

Which left Harry with Draco. They lay on the top bunk, tangled into each other. They didn’t say much. There wasn't much to say. Harry was still thinking over the radio show - thinking about finding the graveyard tomorrow. His parent's graves.

He carded his hand through Draco's hair, and his eyes felt heavy. Draco's thumb rubbed circles on his back and this was just like the Gryffindor Common Room, but colder. So cold that condensation was starting to form on the roof of the tent.

"Why are we here?" Draco whispered in Harry's ear. "I mean, really, here?"

“Because…” Harry shuffled. So that they were even closer and so that Hermione and Ron couldn’t possibly hear them. “Because Dumbledore lived here.”

It wasn’t what he had meant to say. Wasn’t even something that he thought he’d care about.

“So?” Draco’s thumb flipped Harry’s shirt up and his hands were cold on his skin.

“I want to know the truth. Instead of whatever Rita Skeeter is writing in her book. I want to know what happened here.”

“No offence, but your detective skills have always been –” Harry could feel Draco smiling against his neck. “Lacking.”

“That’s why I have you.” He turned and nestled into Draco. But he was slightly stiff, and after a moment shuffled them both – so that they were lying face to face, inches from each other. Draco still looked exhausted. He pushed Harry’s hair out of his eyes, looking over him.

“Does it matter to you?” he asked.

“It matters.”

“Why?”

Harry took a moment. Focused on the curve of Draco’s pale neck and the shape of his collarbones. They were in the shadows of the tent, and the contrast was startling. He traced the lines with his fingertip.

“Because he wouldn’t want me to.” Harry realised it as he said it. “He did everything he could to make me think a certain way about him, and this – it’s saying no to that.”

And that was important. It was important that he knew the man who had pulled the strings on his life for so long revealed in the light. Because Harry desperately wanted to believe that Dumbledore cared about him, but Aberforth had been right. They were children. And he had to know they weren’t sheep sent to the slaughter.

Draco didn’t reply. He looked Harry over, and said nothing. He gave a deep sigh, though, and maybe that was a sign he was bored of this. Bored of Dumbledore. Bored of Harry’s fixation on Dumbledore.

“And my parents lived here,” Harry whispered.

“Ah.” Draco pressed his lips against Harry’s forehead. “That changes it. If it’s solely for you, then I’m on board.”

It had felt like there were worms in his stomach at admitting his secret and Draco’s almost joy at Harry wanting to do something selfish made him forget about them. Made him smile and say, “It’s almost two years since you became friends with Ron and Hermione. It wouldn’t kill you to follow their plans t0o.”

“It would.” Draco kissed Harry’s forehead again, and pulled him even closer, so that they were flush against each other. And it felt like Harry belonged there. “It absolutely would, _mon ange_.”

Harry chuckled. And fell asleep in his boyfriend’s arms, to the sound of his friends talking.

The idea of waiting until nightfall seemed like the day would be just as tedious as the previous evening. Harry woke early – whilst it was still dark – and decided to get some fresh air. If only because he’d rather be properly rained on, than have it come from the roof of the tent. Every time anyone nudged one of the walls, it sent a shower of cold droplets from the ceiling.

It was larger than a normal tent – larger than it seemed from the outside – but there was still only enough room for the two bunkbeds and a long, low coffee table. Hermione had put pillows down to use as seats, but it meant sitting with the bedframes digging into the small of anyone’s back.

The streetlights of Godric’s Hollow were lit for the monring. Still gas lamps, Harry noticed, and they lit up the old brick buildings in yellow orbs like the delluminator. The whole village looked like it should be listed as a historical site – all cobblestone houses with overlapping stone tiles for roofs and two chimney spokes sat neatly side by side. Like Wuthering Heights, or Jane Eyre, he thought. Only neither of those books had dark shapes flitting through the streets.

Harry’s blood turned cold as he realised what the shapes were. Dementors. Maybe there really were none of them left in Azkaban.

He summoned his patronus – thinking of Sirius and Lupin and Draco and the summer they spent in Grimmauld Place – and sent the stag patrolling around the tent. It kept the distant sounds of screaming away.

The screams had grown. He still heard his mother, but now there were other voices too. Ron and Hermione calling out to him. Ginny’s scream as Mr Weasley fell through the curtain. Draco when he was hit with the cruciatus curse. A whole cacophony of bad memories.

His patronus’ silvery light could have woken Draco. Or Harry slipping out of the bed. Whichever it was, he appeared silently, taking Harry’s hand. It was a very cold September, and already Harry’s fingers were numb, though Draco’s didn’t feel any warmer.

“Which first?” Draco whispered. The patronus lit his skin, so that Harry could see his cheeks were pink from the cold. “Your parents or Dumbledore?”

Hermione would not be happy if they wandered off. But Hermione wasn’t awake. And for all she understood textbooks, she didn’t always understand people.

“My parents,” Harry replied, his voice a tiny thing in the crisp air.

Draco tugged him forward, and his patronus went ahead of them as they headed towards the village. They kept a wide birth of the dementors, heading around the back and staying close to the buildings. The grass was damp and it was all too soon that Harry’s trainers let the damp through. He hadn’t tied his laces when he’d shoved them on, and now they slapped against his jeans. Everyone had taken to sleeping in clothes, and that was helpful now, but he wished he remembered gloves.

Maybe that black leather pair.

He didn’t think Draco knew where they were going, and Harry certainly didn’t, but they pressed on, daring to walk in the alleys of the village. The dementors gave the patronus such a wide birth that they didn’t look at who was conjuring it. Draco, on the other hand, seemed transfixed by the deer. His eyes didn’t leave it as it trotted along next to them, and he barely blinked.

“Why a stag?” Draco asked.

“My dad was an animagus stag.” Harry squeezed Draco’s fingers. “What’s yours?”

Draco’s face was hard. “I can’t cast one. You’re meant to learn that in fifth year.”

No one had learnt anything practical that year. And Draco wasn’t part of the D.A.

“Ah. I could teach you?”

Draco shook his head.

“It’s not that tricky,” Harry said. “I learnt at thirteen.”

“You are The Chosen One,” Draco muttered. A dementor passed closer to them than the others, and he pressed against Harry to avoid it.

That wasn’t what Harry was getting at. And he shouldn’t have been smirking slightly, not at the idea that Draco hated them. But there was still a part of him that remembered being in third year.

“The chosen one who fainted when he saw Dementors.”

He nudged Draco to show that he was only teasing, and was nudged back.

“Yeah, I was a prick, you’ve never mentioned that.” Draco’s sarcasm turned to seriousness. “I wasn’t the only one laughing.”

“I guess all the Slytherins loved it.”

“Not just the Slytherins.” There was an awkward pause that came with the news. News Harry should have known – of course all of the school didn’t like him. There were plenty of Gryffindors he hadn’t got on with. “I don’t think I’d be very good at casting patronuses anyway.”

“All you need is a happy memory.” Harry swung their hands.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. You have no happy memories of us together?”

Draco glanced at him. There was a smirk pulling at his mouth, and he turned his face away to chuckle.

“We’ll always have Paris.” Harry pressed closer to Draco, leaning across to try and kiss his cheek.

That did make Draco properly laugh. He pushed Harry away with his free hand.

“ _Oui, nous aurons toujours…”_

He trailed off, his eyes on something ahead of them. Harry turned to see a statue in the middle of the road. The patrous went ahead of them as they stepped closer.

It was a war memorial. His parent’s war memorial.

His fingers slipped from Draco’s. There was a man with scruffy hair and a drawn wand standing with an arm out – shielding the woman behind him. She clutched a baby to her chest. A baby without a lightning scar. A baby whose life had been happy up until this moment.

Who would have grown up in this village. Been friends with other wizard children and have his own bedroom. Would have two kind uncles in the forms of Sirius and Lupin. Wouldn’t have been the chosen one.

“You don’t look like him.”

Hearing Draco speak felt like talking in a Church.

“What?” Harry kept his voice low, as though the statue could hear.

“Everyone says you look like him,” Draco repeated. “But I don’t see it.”

Harry looked up at the man who was meant to be James Potter. He had a determined expression, like the hero of an action movie. If Harry was honest, he did not think his father’s jaw was that chiselled, or his chest that broad.

“You have the same hair, of course,” Draco continued. There was a feeling of utter dread coming from behind them. “And the same glasses.”

“He was dark like I am,” Harry said.

Draco nodded. “But that’s it. Your face is different.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a _good_ different. It’s more like hers.”

Harry looked up at the woman. Her face was twisted into an expression of fear that he didn’t think was right. He’d seen his mother in memories, and felt that she would have the same expression as his father. She would also have her wand out.

She was pretty – with a heart shaped face and a long, straight nose, though Harry couldn’t be sure that was accurate either. The baby in her arms had probably not been so chubby cheeked and snubbed nose – like a cherub from a painting instead of a real child.

He supposed he should have considered there would be a statue. But it left him feeling – hollow. What was being celebrated? His parents’ sacrifice or his survival? Said survival had been down to them, and them alone.

Harry let his eyes wander down – to the slab of granite they were stood on. It was lit by the streetlamps and he could see that it was a list of names.

“They weren’t the only ones who died,” Harry said, because there were so many names, and it wasn’t fair.

Draco paused for a moment. “Their deaths changed the wizarding world.” He squeezed Harry’s fingers, pulsing life back into them. “Don’t you go and do the same.”

Harry wanted to make a joke – to say that he wouldn’t make any promises, but there was a seriousness in Draco’s eye. The dementors fear hung palpable in the air, and it made the words change in his throat.

He tried to smile, but his lips were numb. “I’ll try not to.”

Draco nodded. He squeezed Harry’s fingers again, and looked uncomfortable.

“Graveyard?” he asked. “Or cottage?”

“Graveyard,” Harry replied. The cottage would make him think about Hagrid taking him from Sirius. Using Sirius’ bike to deliver Harry to Dumbledore. To the Dursleys. And the most miserable years of Harry’s life.

They started again, and it was starting to get lighter now. Only enough that the gas lamps began to dim, and the dementors started to move on. Harry still kept the patronus up. Ron and Hermione would be worried, he was sure, if they woke up and found the two of them gone, but he could not bring himself to stress about that. They’d be back soon, and could apologise.

He realised, much too late, that there were signposts Draco had been following. One did, in fact, list Potter Cottage as a destination. That turned his stomach. The idea of people treating it as a place to visit was – uncomfortable. Did they take pictures there to show their friends?

The sun was rising at they reached the graveyard. The sky was still dark, but there was a band of orange at the bottom that helped fend off the darkness. The church sat as a dark silhouette against the sky – a little chapel with a stained-glass cross in its tower. He’d never thought to ask whether his parents were religious. Would he have spent Sundays sat there, shuffling on the pews and staring up at the red glass?

There was a little iron kissing gate at one end of the graveyard, and Harry went through it first. Immediately, he recognised some of the names on the graves – like Abbot and Clearwater. He continued on, eyes searching the old lettering rapidly for his own.

Draco went ahead, kicking at any brambles that strayed too close to the path. He stopped dead in his tracks just as they reached the church. He didn’t call out – didn’t need to – but just offered his hand to Harry.

And he was suddenly struck by the image of Draco doing the very same thing on a cold day in their fifth year. His face had been twisted with dislike and annoyance then.

Harry took Draco’s hand.

There they were. It was a double headstone – grey marble and obviously cleaned more regularly than the others, with both his parents’ names etched in. The same death day. Flowers sat on the earth by it – white lilies that were drooping already. The words _‘the last enemy that shall be defeated is death_ ,’ was written just above them.

“That sounds like a Death Eater thing,” Harry murmured.

“It’s probably meant to mean living beyond death.”

“But they didn’t. They aren’t.” It angered Harry that the wizarding world had ghosts – real life after death – and they would write something like that. It was probably meant to be moving and meaningful, but he bet that people walked to Potter Cottage and then here as a day trip. Thought that it was inspiring, not a tragedy.

Maybe Draco followed his meaning. “Godric’s Hollow is meant to be very haunted. Maybe…”

The Wizarding World had _ghosts_.

“You don’t think…?”

“Wizards who don’t want to die – or wizards who have unfinished business – they become ghosts.” Draco spoke slowly. “There’s been lots of studies on ghosts but only a few of them will talk to researchers about it exactly how it happens. Most say that it’s offensive. Some have campaigned to stop the research all together –”

“Draco,” he was rambling, and that didn’t seem like a good sign.

“They don’t know if ghosts can ever pass on properly,” Draco finished. “So them being – it might not be – the best.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He pressed himself against Draco’s arm, instead. He didn’t know what he wanted. His parents were the thing he saw in the mirror of Erised, but he did not want them to be ghosts. He didn’t even know if he would be able to talk to them. James and Lily Potter were two people that he never knew. What if they weren’t who he wanted them to be? What if his father was the person Snape said he was?

His chest ached. There was a tangle of emotions in him that he couldn’t unravel.

Once the pressure had subsided a little, he tugged on Draco’s hand. “Let’s look around.”

They continued past the church. It was still too early for any services, and the dark windows were like eyes that watched them. There were older headstones that way, half covered in moss and lichen and the letters worn away.

Harry stepped closer to them, looking over dates from the 1700s and 1800s. He wondered if anyone came to these graves anymore, or even remembered that these stones were there.

Then he spotted it. The same mark that had been hanging around Xenophilius Lovegood’s neck. It was etched into one of the oldest stones.

“That was made by someone else,” Draco said, as Harry lit his wand and held it closer to the stone. He was probably right – it wouldn’t make any sense to etch it in the corner, away from everything else.

He drew his light over the name, but it was too hard to make out. Ignotus, maybe.

“He looks too old to have had anything to do with Grindlewald,” Harry said.

“Grindlewald was a great evil. It would make sense that he started with grafitti,” Draco replied. He was the one who pulled Harry away this time, back around to the next row of gravestones.

Arianna Dumbledore was just two rows away from Harry’s parents.

She was laid next to Kendra Dumbledore, her mother, with the phrase ‘ _where your treasure lies, your heart will be also_.’

Harry wasn’t sure what that had to do with the Arianna that Aberforth had described. The portrait of the blonde girl with brown eyes appeared in his mind’s eye.

He cast flowers from his wand tip before he could think about it. They were small, and drooping, because he’d never been good at the spell, but they were better than nothing. The little orchids brought a spot of colour to the grey stone.

It was strange to think that Harry and Dumbledore had relatives in the same graveyard, so close to each other, but he had never mentioned it. And yet, he could believe it. Dumbledore had fed Harry only what he needed to know for the next step of his journey. Set him up to spend his final year hunting horcruxes.

Doing something a teenager shouldn’t have to do.

He could believe that Dumbledore hadn’t wanted him to see his parents’ graves. It was closure; his parents were the reason he was fighting. Closure, in Dumbledore’s mind, would make Harry lose his purpose.

Well, he had more things to fight for than that. He had his boyfriend, his friends, the family he’d discovered and grown along the way. He had every muggle who was being killed because he hadn’t stopped Voldemort yet.

Dumbledore had always misunderstood Harry.

“He might have killed her.” It was something Harry could not say to Ron or Hermione. They might never believe this side of Dumbledore he was discovering.

Draco, though, had seen from the start.

“That would explain why he never mentioned her.”

“It would have been an accident,” Harry said.

“And?”

And that mattered. Harry was sure that it mattered. Because he could accept Dumbledore being manipulative. He could accept him knowing Grindlewald – nothing would change the fact that he defeated him. But he didn’t think he could accept that man killing his sister. It was the step too far.

They stood in the bitter morning in silence, until Draco murmured that they should get back.

*

Hermione was not happy with them. She spent five minutes lecturing the two of them on letting her know where they were going before they left because they could have been “arrested, killed or seen!”

Harry nodded, and looked suitably sheepish as he heated their last tin of baked beans. (They had stocked up on spaghetti loops and shapes instead.)

Ron tapped him on the shoulder as he sat next to him. (There were camping chairs at the bottom of Hermione’s bag.)

“We were worried about you, mate,” he murmured. He’d buried himself in a huge, woollen jersey that made it look as though he had skinned a sheep.

“Where _were_ you?” Hermione asked.

Harry paused. The sauce was starting to bubble in the beans, and he stirred it.

“We were meant to go together,” Ron said. Still calm. It felt like getting told off by a stressed Mum and a laidback Dad. And it was Ron’s quiet disappointment that cut through Harry.

“My parents lived here,” he said, finally.

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. Ron shifted his chair closer to Harry’s, so that their shoulders pressed against each other.

“There’s a monument,” Harry continued. His voice sounded rough and his throat was sore. “And they’re buried here.”

Ron pressed even closer to Harry. He took the beans off the flames, then served them up on the plates next to the plain rolls they’d brought in silence. He rested his head on Ron’s shoulder as they ate. In silence. He felt oddly numb about those graves now. He’d thought they would – help. That he’d feel some kind of magic acceptance.

But they were two stones in the ground. And he couldn’t attach that to any knowledge he had of his parents.

“You took Malfoy,” Hermione whispered, eventually. Harry still had a hand tangled in Draco’s, even though it made it hard to eat.

“It wasn’t planned,” Harry said, firmly. “We didn’t plan it.”

He could still see the hurt on her face, and knew that Ron must be feeling something similar. And yet he hadn’t really wanted Draco there. He hadn’t wanted anyone with him.

“We can go back,” he continued. “We saw Dumbledore’s sisters grave – and Grindlewald’s mark.”

Hermione looked up then, with a glint in her eye like a magpie who had seen something shiny.

“Grindlewald’s mark?” she asked. “You mean the –”

She drew the triangle in the air, and Harry nodded, still pressed against Ron’s shoulder. In the next moment, she had disappeared into the tent. The one after, she was out, with a book open. The book Dumbledore had given her, Harry realised.

There was the mark. By a story titled ‘The Three Brothers.’

“I know that story,” Ron said. “Mum used to read us that before we went to bed.”

“It’s a fairy tale, Granger,” Draco added.

Hermione bit her lip. She crouched in the grass by the chairs, running her finger over the tiny ink mark.

“Maybe it is,” she said. “But I’ve scoured this book cover to cover and that’s the only mark Dumbledore ever made in it.”

“It wasn’t on Arianna’s grave, though. It was on that Ignotius bloke’s,” Harry said.

Hermione continued tapping the mark.

“Maybe Dumbledore saw the mark there and drew it in the book,” Ron suggested. “He lived here, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded. He was starting to get tired of trying to figure out the mind of Albus Dumbledore.

“Why not the front page, then?” Hermione asked. “Why write it here – on this story? Why write in the book at all?” She stayed silent, as the boys finished their breakfast. It was the perfect kind of food to chase off the feeling that the dementors had left. “I want to see Xenophilius Lovegood.”

“What?” Harry asked. “Why?”

“Because he was wearing Grindlewald’s mark,” Hermione said. She pointed a finger at Harry. “You had an ulterior motive for coming here, Mr Potter – I’m allowed to choose the next place. If we don’t find anything here, or in Little Hangleton, then we go to visit Mr Lovegood. He’s the only person we’ve seen wearing that symbol. Maybe he knows something more.”

“Or maybe he supports Grindlewald and the mark in the graveyard was graffiti,” Draco said. “It’s Grindlewald’s mark. Wearing it like that – was probably to ward off Death Eaters. What better way to show your support for them than wear a symbol of the last wizarding fascist?”

“If it’s just Grindlewald’s mark, then why is it here? Why did Dumbledore leave this to us?” Hermione asked. Her brow was furrowed.

Draco shrugged. “To let us know that he was a supporter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She threw the book down.

“They were in love,” Harry said, before he could stop himself.

Hermione stared up at him. Even Ron shifted his shoulder to peer at Harry.

“Aberforth said. They were in love,” he said, and looked at the small, ink mark. A triangle, with a circle inside and a strike down the middle. “Maybe it was their mark, and it became only Grindlewald’s later.”

And, he added silently, it wasn’t as though they had any other plan. They had no clue to the other horcruxes, and no idea where to go after Little Hangleton.

“We’ll look again,” he said, after a pause. “Maybe there was something we missed.”

They all nodded, which made him feel quite proud. He could do this – maybe he could bluff his way through this and lead them all.

“And maybe.” Hermione paused, glancing up at Harry. “Maybe it would be an idea to visit your parent’s house? It was the place were Vol –”

“Don’t say his name,” Ron snapped.

“Where you-know-who ‘died,’” Hermione said. “Maybe there’s a clue there.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Harry nodded, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Everything was supposed to make sense, now that they were here. Things were meant to fall into place and he would feel – belonging? His part was meant to make him feel something more than this strange mix of emotions that he didn’t care for. He was meant to find who he was here.

Instead, it felt like being with Dumbledore. The monument made him out to be someone that everyone else wanted him to be. A hero.

Maybe Ron noticed his expression. He nudged Harry with his elbow. “And if we don’t find anything, then we’ll go and see mad old Lovegood. At least that’ll be interesting.”

Harry smiled at him.

It was going to be another tedious day. But at least they were together. No one here thought of Harry Potter as a hero.

And that was a very good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Apparently casting patronuses isn't on the Hogwarts curriculum, which is really shady when that's the only spell to ward of the prison guards.. And that there is a truth telling potion not used in court..the wizard justice system is corrupt...But I'm pretty sure in this case it's because Rowling couldn't think of a patronus for Draco lol. My reasoning's not that, ahaha...(It's actually not, I'm going to give Draco a patronus, just not yet. And it makes sense for the ministry teacher to not teach the spell to repel dementors, since she starts using them in court)
> 
> But yeah - I enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope it was enjoyable to read. I'm excited for next week too >u>
> 
> As always, thank you for all of the lovely comments - if I don't respond it's because I can't say anything other than 'thank you! <3' I really do appreciate them, and they're the reason I keep writing. Do leave any thoughts below vvv 
> 
> And I'll update next week too x


	14. 14

It was early evening when they travelled back into Godric’s Hollow. Harry had hidden his scar with Hermione’s foundation, and most of his hair in a baseball cap, pulled low over his face. They’d used the spell to fix his eyes for a few hours. It was easier than carrying the invisibility cloak around all the time.

Some shops were still open, but the keepers watched the four of them pass with weary expressions. The few people hurrying along the cobbled high street stared.

One middle-aged woman stopped Hermione as they were passing the monument, and she jumped at the hand on her shoulder. A tin of sleakeazy’s had been sacrificed to disguise her hair and she wore thick make-up.

“Don’t recognise you lot,” the woman said. Her eyes were narrowed and Harry got a distinctly mole-like impression from her.

“We’re just – passing through,” Hermione said.

“Not a good time for tourists.”

“We’re not tourists.” Hermione smiled. “We’re just stopping by on our way to stay with family, and thought we’d stretch our legs.”

The woman looked over them each. It was obvious that they weren’t family, and clear they didn’t want to be spotted. Ron had a hood pulled up to hide his hair and shadow his face, where Draco had charmed his hair dark, and let it fall loose.

“You’d best be getting on then,” the witch said. “Dementors are on the watch for anyone out past curfew.”

“There’s a curfew?” Ron asked.

“Where’ve you been then?” The woman looked over them again, and shook her head. “Look young enough to be in school.” Harry clutched Hermione’s hand, getting ready to pull her away as a look of clarity dawned on the woman’s creased face. But then it turned to understanding. “Lots of students passing through. Dangerous place, Hogwarts.”

“Yes, well –“ Ron had Hermione’s other hand, pulling them all a step away. “We’d better be getting on.”

“Tourist places are also dangerous,” the woman continued. “Now there’s been all that graffiti at the Potter’s cottage.”

Harry’s stomach overturned itself. He did not bother saying goodbye to the woman, and no one else did either. They continued on till the end of the lane, before Hermione glanced back, worriedly.

“We’ll be on guard,” Harry said, because he recognised that look.

Hermione nodded. They kept walking, around the curve of the village. There was a bookshop, its displays full of Rita Skeeter’s book – _the Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore._ Ron turned his nose up at it, but Harry hesitated. Most of Skeeter’s work was a lie, but there was always a glimmer of truth. And what wouldn’t be believe about Dumbledore now?

The shopkeeper looked from the display, and Harry ducked his head, following the others up the path.

Potter cottage was on the outskirts of town, down a winding road with fields either side. They seemed to roll all the way to the amber sky. A pretty place to grow up. Quiet. Harry would have played Quidditch with his father. Would go shopping in the village with his mother. Long walks through the fields, without any worries.

He probably would have grown up like Ron – wanting to be Gryffindor like his family and not wanting to be Slytherin. He wouldn’t have got on with Draco even in that first Madam Malkins meeting.

Would he still have fallen for him?

The cottage itself was in ruins. Its roof was black, torched and collapsed, the window shattered and the door hanging off its hinges. The woman had been right, there was graffiti sprayed over the outside walls, the white paint turned grey. There were several lightning bolts, but over the top sat crudely drawn dark marks.

One of Hermione’s hands covered her mouth, whilst her other found Harry’s hand and squeezed it. Draco’s hands were on his waist, his chin on Harry’s shoulder, and Ron had hold of his other arm, but he couldn’t feel it. He felt completely numb.

He hadn’t wanted to come here. This wasn’t the reason why.

“Maybe it’s – maybe it’s not so bad, inside?” Hermione suggested.

“You go,” Harry said.

Hermione stepped forward, and to Harry’s surprise, Ron took her hand. They stepped through the broken gate and up to the front door. Ron murmured something in a low voice to Hermione, and then they stepped through.

Harry looked at the grass around them, and wondered where Sirius’ motorbike had landed. What crossed his mind when Hagrid told him Dumbledore wanted him to go to Hogwarts. Surely he wouldn’t have been happy. Had he considered stupefying Hagrid and taking Harry anyway?

His life would not have been a simple small village one, then. They would have been hiding, on the run because everyone would believe Sirius was a murderer. But Sirius would have loved him. Done his best to make him happy. It might’ve been too risky to send Harry to Hogwarts.

What would have happened about the philosopher’s stone? The chamber? The Tri-wizard tournament?

“Are you okay?” Draco murmured into Harry’s neck.

He sighed. Maybe it should bother him that this place of defiance against Voldemort had been desecrated in such a way. That this place stood for hope and now it looked as though Harry _had_ died all those years ago.

That wasn’t what bothered him. It was that this was _his_ house that had been graffitied over. That bothered him.

“This – wasn’t meant to be anything symbolic,” Harry muttered. “It was just – a house.”

They heard footsteps then, on the path behind them. Draco pulled away from Harry, and they both shuffled to one side. Hoping that the person behind them couldn’t hear Hermione and Ron picking their way around inside.

It was a woman. Stooped with age and looking the picture book of a granny, with curled white hair and a deeply lined face. She continued up the path, stopping just in front of the gate to the Potter’s cottage. For a long time, she peered at the ruins too.

Then she shook her head.

“The gate used to have an enchantment,” she said. Her voice was the creak of an old tree in the wind. “When you touched it, a sign would rise up and tell you what happened here. It was written on too – by wellwishers. People who supported Harry Potter. Wishing him luck, long life, that sort of thing.”

It didn’t sound any different to what happened now. Other than the messages being supportive, and even then, Harry thought they would only add pressure. Show him just how many people believed he was something greater than what he was.

Draco squeezed Harry’s arm, his eyebrows knitted together. It was clear he wanted to ignore her.

But Harry couldn’t do that.

“What happened?” he asked.

The woman hesitated. She put her gnarled fingers on the gate. “This was a place of hope. Destroying it destroyed hope.”

Harry winced. It sounded like something he would read in a book – or a history book. This wasn’t that. He glanced at Draco, and saw a similarly unimpressed expression. He raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t recognise her?” he murmured.

“Should I?” Harry wondered if he had a grandmother, briefly.

Draco smirked. “You need to read Hogwarts, a History.”

The woman looked at them, squinting. Harry ducked his chin, looking from underneath the brim of his hat.

“That’s all anyone reads, now.” The woman sniffed. “That or Skeeter’s new book.”

“She said she interviewed you for it,” Draco said. That was when Harry realised who this was. Bathilda Bagshot. Maybe they should call Hermione from the ruins of the cottage.

The old woman nodded, and it seemed as though her head was going to snap from her neck with the effort. “Had to use veriterserum – probably illeagal.”

“We came here because of Dumbledore.” It was a half-lie from Draco, Harry supposed. “His brother, Aberforth, wanted us to visit Arianna’s grave for him.”

That was a whole lie, and Bathilda frowned at them. “How do you know Aberforth?”

“We worked part time for him,” Draco continued smoothly. Harry tried not to stare, puzzled, at him. Wondering why they had to keep talking, when Draco had been so against it. “When we were at Hogwarts, and went on Hogsmeade trips.” He paused, looking down and sighing. “Of course, it’s dangerous now, with the – patrols.”

Bathilda nodded, a look of maternal understanding on her face. Her voice was low, and gentle as she asked, “do you go to Hogwarts?”

“We graduated last year.”

Again, Bathilda nodded, not noticing the contradiction in their story. Her dark eyes sad as she looked them over. It made Harry feel particularly scruffy. His jeans were ripped at the knee, and there was a baked bean stain on the hem of his sweatshirt.

“You look a little worse for wear, if I may say,” she said. “And the patrols will be starting here soon. But you’re welcome to a cup of tea, if you like.”

There was a cry of surprise and a laugh from inside the cottage, and she shook her head, muttering about stupid teenagers. They were Harry’s stupid teenagers, and he was starting to think that they should have called Hermione and Ron out – no doubt Hermione would be ecstatic to meet Mrs Bagshot. But Bathilda’s obvious disdain for their behaviour made him hesitate. A warm cup of tea was an inviting proposition. Even though they’d been camping for under a week, if felt like it had been forever since he’d sat in a proper house.

So he loudly accepted the offer, hoping that his friends would hear, and allowed Bathilda to lead the way down the street. There were more cottages on this road, spread out so that each had a charming garden of roses, honeysuckle or ivy, like they were in a watercolour illustration.

And yet, the hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Like he was being watched – but then, it was probably Ron and Hermione, following and staying out of the way.

Bathilda led them to a house at the end of the lane, much like the others. She pottered along the path, fiddling with a large key to open the door.

“Isn’t it a dangerous time to invite strangers in?” Harry asked. He was grateful, of course, but she had accepted their story too readily.

“Yes.” Bathilda gave a croaky laugh. “But I’ve always had a weak spot for young people in a spot of trouble. You two clearly are.”

She pushed open the thick, wooden front door and they stepped inside. Harry was immediately overwhelmed by the smell only described as ‘old lady.’ Whether it was her washing powder or moth-eaten curtains, it attacked his nose. He worked hard to stop himself from sneezing.

“You mean Grindlewald?” Draco asked, and when Bathilda looked at him, shocked, he added, “Aberforth told us he stayed with you.”

Harry wasn’t sure he had.

Bathilda shook her head again, tottering to a low doorway. Beyond it, Harry could see a small kitchen.

“Oh, the whole world knows. I’m sure Skeeter wrote that as well,” she said. “Take a seat, I’ll pop the kettle on.”

They stood in Bathilda’s living room. A small, square room with welsh dressers chocked full of ornaments. Harry sat on the well-upholstered sofa – with a curtain-like floral print – and saw they were mostly houses. Little cottages like the ones in Godric’s Hollow, but there was a miniature version of Hogwarts and some of the shops in Diagon Alley. Between them sat china witches and wizards, who seemed to have a gleam in their eye, watching the newcomers.

Draco sat next to Harry, and nudged their feet together. His boots were thoroughly scuffed, and Harry’s trainers were coming free of the soles.

“Why are we here?” Harry whispered.

Draco tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair.

“Clues?” he suggested. “The truth about Dumbledore? A cup of tea?”

A mix of all three, Harry decided. They heard the kettle boiling in the other room and Bathilda Bagshot bustling around. She finally came out with three teacups balanced on a tray. They didn’t match the saucers they were spilling onto at all, and Harry felt a sudden stab of fondness for her. He got up and took the tray, putting it down on the low coffee table and helping to pour out the tea. Limescale floated on the surface.

Bathilda had said thank you, but then picked up a framed picture from the side. As Harry sat back down, she passed it to him.

“I took him in when he was expelled from Durmstrang,” she said, with a sigh. “The rest of the family didn’t want anything to do with him.”

The picture was of a teenager, around their age. It was old enough that it was only in black and white, but it was clear the boy’s hair was blonde – tied back in a short ponytail. He had an easy going grin on his face, leaning back on his hands and laughing.

Around his neck was the same symbol they had seen before. The triangle. The only thing Dumbledore had written in his copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard._ It winked at Harry like an eye.

His scar prickled.

“There’s another one, somewhere.” Bathilda sat in the armchair with her teacup. “Of him and Albus.”

“Aberforth said they were –“ Harry tried not to hesitate. “Close.”

“Two peas in a pod. Though different – I would never have thought that a sweet boy like Albus would follow Gellert’s way of thinking.”

Grindelwald’s way of thinking? Harry stared at her, and she sighed.

“I would show you the letters, but I’m afraid Miss Skeeter took them. They’ll be on display with that book of hers for the big launch in Diagon Alley.” Bathilda sighed. “I thought I was doing right – telling the truth about Albus, but the world is not ready for it.”

Harry could see why this woman wrote history textbooks. There was a certain drama to her words, even though they were true in this case. It was not the time for the world to turn on Dumbledore. They needed him – he ended Grindlewald. Now they had Harry instead.

“What letters?” Harry asked.

“Oh, they’re…” Bathilda trailed off as she stood, moving very slowly. On the side of the welsh dresser was a book – buried in unopened post. She handed it to Harry with trembling hands, giving him the page number. It was _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_. “She gave me a free copy, for my help.”

There was a collection of scanned letters, all in Dumbledore’s cursive writing. Harry read through as quickly as he could, his stomach sinking as he saw that Dumbledore agreed with much of what Grindlewald thought. That he did think Muggles needed to be overseen by wizards. For the greater good. That phrase kept coming up. To hell with the statue of secrecy, one letter wrote.

“I told you he was racist,” Draco whispered, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “The Greater Good – that was Grindlewald’s slogan.”

Which made Harry feel completely terrible.

“Miss Skeeter is a little biased.” Bathilda sipped from her tea, and there was a far-off gaze in her eyes. “Do you know anything about muggle history?”

Harry looked up – almost smiled despite the twisted, painful feeling in his gut. He nodded. The prickling in his hidden scar was worse now – almost distracting. There was that feeling again – of being watched.

“It was just before what they call World War Two. Both Muggles and wizards were suffering.” She had the air of a grandmother telling a story, and Harry wasn’t sure that was appropriate. World War Two was a horror, and she should treat it as such.

She seemed to sense his other question – why didn’t wizards stop it – because she continued, “a wizard is useless without a wand. And Gellert was at the middle of this suffering when he wasn’t at Durmstrang. Even when he was at school, they all feared they weren’t safe. It seemed, to him, that magic was the perfect solution. That breaking the statue of secrecy would benefit the Muggles and stop the violence.”

“I thought that Grindlewald hated muggles,” Draco said.

“He grew to. Rather quickly. And extremely. But history books always leave out that first thought. That the events of the muggle world affected it.” Bathilda paused, then said, grandly. “Our worlds are two sides of the same coin, and to refuse to flip it is to bring our downfalls.”

Harry closed the book, his head swimming. He felt as though he had been staring at a painting for years, only to step to the side and see a different dimension to it. He wasn’t sure he believed Bathilda completely about Grindlewald’s intentions – looking at the picture of the laughing boy, he had the impression that he told people what they wanted to hear. That story would have spoken to Bathilda’s sentimental side.

But Grindlewald was dead, so he’d never know. And it wasn’t as though he could ask Dumbledore, either. He felt that flash of anger again, at the many secrets in the life of Dumbledore.

What _had_ he thought of Harry and Draco, really? If he had been so close to – in love with – Grindlewald? Why had he never mentioned it?

There was a thud from upstairs. The three of them looked up, and Bathilda frowned. A sharp pain dug into Harry’s scar, and he fought not to wince. 

“The neighbour’s cat,” she said, eventually. Then stood on tottering legs. “I’ll go check.”

Harry’s tea was lukewarm now, and he didn’t fancy it. Draco had barely touched his cup. He put the picture of Grindlewald down.

“So what’s this world war two business all about?” he asked, then scowled. “Don’t gape, Potter, you don’t know the first thing about wizarding history.”

Considering Harry’s track record in _History of Magic,_ Draco was right. He began to explain, though didn’t know where to start and made a mess of it, when they heard a scream from upstairs.

Harry shot up – realising the danger too late – ran across the room before Draco could even snide about a ‘cat burglar,’ and barrelled up the stairs. His wand was in his hand. There was an open door on the landing and the sounds of crashing inside, Bathilda’s frail voice casting _diffendo_.

The front door burst open, and he heard Hermione shout something about a snake.

He burst into Bathilda’s bedroom, pulling her behind him. She crashed against the wall.

Hermione was right. It was a snake – had come in through the open window and was halfway across the room, and yet the tip of its tail sat on the ledge. It was as thick as his chest, mottled brown and staring at him with amber eyes. The snake who had attacked Mr Weasley. Voldemort’s pet.

Bathilda was screaming.

The snake drew closer.

It happened at the same time. Just as Harry swung his wand around and yelled “reducto!”, the snake speared forward. It struck his wand hand just as the spell burst from it – exploding the far wall of the room.

He fell back into the hallway, yelling and tearing his arm away from the snake’s fangs. Bathilda screamed again as it flew towards her.

“Diffendo,” he yelled, wand hand stinging. It cut through the snake’s scales. It fell to the floor, writhing in pain. Bathilda was pressed against the wall – holding her neck, and that froze Harry. Hurt. She was hurt.

The snake’s tail slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of his lungs and his feet from the floor. There was a sharp pain in the back of his head, as he hit the corner of a chest of drawers.

His wand wasn’t in his hand.

And the snake was coming towards him – slithering up his leg with its mouth open.

Hermione and Draco were in the doorway, wands raised. Both cast at the same time – just as the snake was crawling up Harry’s abdomen. It flew upwards and off him – he heard it thud against the wall. Someone was cursing – the snake – he realised, as he scrambled around. Draco’s arm grabbed his own, tugging him up and out of the way.

“My wand –“ he panted, reaching to where it was rolling away on the floor.

Draco pushed him back – out of danger – and grabbed it.

The snake was on the bed, but was only a dark shape in Harry’s vision now. The room swirled and blurred, made worse by the pain in his hand. There was yelling all around him – Hermione, Draco, the snake. Someone told him he was bleeding – he figured it was from his head and tried to put his hand there, but his scar was in agony now.

There was a presence in his mind. One that he had not felt for a while, now, but was impossible to forget.

Voldemort.

He opened his mouth to tell Draco, but the room had twisted itself into blackness and he was falling – falling into darkness.

*

And his hands were long, thin and white on the broomstick underneath him. He was full of anger – rage – at the snake and he had to get there himself – had to do it himself. There was the cottage – so close. Close to the last place he had been in this village.

There was the window. Smashed open by the snake.

The children were inside – the boy, with Lucius’ son, looking pale and haggard after the full moon. (What satisfaction that brought, and how glorious it would be to tell Lucius that.) The other two there as well, an old woman pale and pressed into the corner of the room. Poor Nagini was coming to him and his lips curled, ready to admonish her.

After all, they were four children. He only needed to kill one of them, and then he would have won. There would be nothing left.

The ginger one pulled out something silver. The girl screamed – that was good – a familiar sound that brought a smile to his lips.

Yes. Voldemort had won.

He raised his wand.

Just as the light in the room vanished.

He cast a jet of green into the dark. It only succeeded in bursting open the opposite wall. There was nothing there.

Nagini curled around his wrist, up his arm and over his shoulder, hissing apologies. She should not have gone alone – he couldn’t risk losing her. Not when he had lost another already. It was better that she hurt Potter and not the other way around.

He lit his wand. A bright, white lit an empty room.

He howled. Chest ablaze and throat raw with fury.

Then he paused. There was a photo on the floor. It had half-fallen out of a book, and the figure in it caught his eye. A golden haired laughing teenager.

Long white fingers plucked it free. The other half had a serious looking red-haired boy, but his eyes twinkled when he looked at the other. Their arms were around each other - a little too close and intimate to just be friends.

This was what he had been looking for.

"Harry..." A voice whispered. Far away. " _Mon ange_ , wake up."

*

Harry woke to pain. A lingering, aching pain in his forehead. An unbearable throbbing in in his wrist, spreading all the way up his arm. He groaned and felt fingers wipe sweaty hair from his forehead.

A blurry Draco Malfoy was over him.

" _Mon dieu_ , there wasn't even a dementor about, and you still fainted." Draco was joking, but his voice was shaky.

"What happened?" His own voice was a dry croak. He became aware of a lurching feeling that made his head spin even more.

“Don’t move,” Draco said, a hand on Harry’s chest. “You’ve been bitten.”

“I noticed.”

“Yes.” Draco frowned. “I’m afraid we had to amputate your wrist.”

“Malfoy!” Hermione snapped, but she sounded far away.

“We didn’t,” Draco said, his hands firmer on Harry’s chest as he struggled, his heart in his mouth. “But you do still need an antidote. Granger had a bezoar to stabilize you.”

“But –” But they were last in Bathilda’s house and Voldemort had been on his way – where were they? Where were they going?

“Stay still.” Draco’s fingers were smoothing back his hair again. “We’ll be landing soon.”

So they were in the car. Harry closed his eyes, because the lurching made his stomach heave and looking up without his glasses made his head hurt worse.

Landing, of course, made everything so much worse.

They opened the doors, but Draco told Harry to stay still. He heard Hermione pull something large out of her bag, desperately accio-ing ingredients. The pain in his arm was constant, crawling up to his shoulder now, so sharp that he had to grit his teeth.

“I had to wake you,” Draco murmured. “You were – murmuring.”

“I was him.” Harry whispered it. “Draco–”

Draco shushed him. Told him to hold on and stay with him. That he was okay, and going to be fine. Harry tried to breathe through burning lungs and felt the pain in his arm grow closer to his chest. Venom. The snake was venomous and it had bit him.

That was why Voldemort had been angry. Nagini had almost killed him.

Was still killing him. His back arched as waves of pain came from his wrist. It was held tightly by Draco’s other hand, straight up. His fingers tingled.

It seemed like an age before his head was lifted. Before Hermione was pressing a vial to his lips and something bitter and boiling was down his throat. It was an effort to even swallow it, but as it did, the pain lessened. The throbbing retreated, back down his arm, which was being lowered. Rubbed with gentle hands.

When it was bearable – just an angry, stabbing pain in his wrist, he asked again, “what happened?”

“I think you saw some of it.” Draco’s voice was soft.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, tight with panic.

“The poison, the panic – it weakened Harry’s defences, letting the Dark Lord slip through. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Aren’t you meant to stop that?”

“I was a little preoccupied.”

“The snake,” Harry said. “I think the snake is –”

“Is that even possible?” Draco asked. He pushed Harry’s glasses back onto his nose. “A horcrux from a living thing?”

“He thought he’d lost too many already, and I don’t think he was talking about pets.” Harry tried to smile, then, but it felt like a great effort. “She wasn’t meant to attack me – he came to finish me off himself. But – well, I don’t know _how_ you escaped.”

“It was Ron.” Hermione sounded animated. When Harry peaked through his lashes, he saw that her cheeks were flushed. “He was brilliant –”

“It was nothing.” Ron’s face appeared from around the backseat. “I just pressed down on the delluminator. It was a bit silly, really – thinking that would be more helpful than a wand.”

“But it _was_ ,” Hermione said. “Ron took out the lights and that gave us the moment we needed to apparate to the car. Of course, we don’t know if that’s being traced, so we packed up as quickly as we could – we used a bezoar, but you really did need the antidote to uncommon poisons. I carry a stock of ingredients, but I couldn’t make it there, and definitely not in the car – so we drove as far as we could with you – like that – and we’ll keep going now.”

Because a flying car was a very inconspicuous getaway vehicle, Harry thought. It _was_ invisible, but wouldn’t that make everything more awkward if Voldemort flew into them?

“You did brilliant, Ron,” Harry said, and saw his face go pink. “And you, Hermione.”

“And I did nothing,” Draco muttered.

“You’re always brilliant, so you can shut it,” Harry replied. A chuckle swept around them.

“We’ll get your hand bandaged,” Hermione continued. “And then you’ll be able to sit up, and then we must get going.”

Harry nodded. Watching Draco wrap his hand gingerly. A large, round bump sat on the back of his wrist, crimson in colour. He grimaced as the bandages pressed against it.

“What about Bathilda Bagshot?” he asked, remembering her in something of a daze.

“Well –” Hermione bit her lip. “She was bitten too. Malfoy _did_ give her a bezoar, but we couldn’t take her with us, so we –”

“Left her?”

“No – I sent as many patronuses as I could make into Godric’s Hollow for help.” Hermione twisted her hair. “We couldn’t – there was nothing else we could do, Harry.”

That didn’t mean it was easier to accept. Harry thought of the kind old woman and his chest hurt afresh. She had been kind – unnecessarily so. That might have been the thing that killed her.

“It was –”

“Not your fault.” Draco pulled the bandage a little too tight on Harry’s hand, looking at him sharply. “You didn’t summon that snake.”

“You-Know-Who must have guessed Harry was coming back to Godric’s Hollow,” Ron said. “Maybe it’s been waiting there for ages – ready to strike. I mean, where else would we go?”

That still wasn’t comforting. Harry stayed quiet, stewing in guilt and frustration as his wrist was bandaged and put into a sling. He was propped slowly up in the back, and Draco slipped from the footwells to sit beside him.

Hermione packed up her cauldron and ingredients, getting into the passenger’s side and closing the door with a resounding thump.

“Grindlewald.” Harry had been thinking over what he had seen in the connection. “There was a picture of Grindlewald and Dumbledore and that was who he was looking for.”

There was a pause.

“They have similar thoughts,” Draco replied. “But I can’t imagine he was there for a history lesson.”

Again, they mulled over the information, until Ron tapped the steering wheel, starting the car again. It wheezed and spluttered back to life.

“Little Hangleton?” he suggested, already pulling up and away from the clearing they were in. “At least we know another horcrux now. A ruddy great snake. Easy enough to deal with.”

Easy enough, Harry agreed bitterly, since he had the feeling that Voldemort would not be letting Nagini out of his sight from now on.

But they had survived. And he supposed that was enough for one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): From her appearance in the films, Nagini looks like a copperhead snake (I honestly didn't want to hunt through the books to find a description) which are venomous. Her size and the fact she's a horcrux probably make that venom deadly. But yeah, the part in the books where she squeezes Harry doesn't align with the behaviour of a copperhead snake that well.
> 
> Bathilda Bagshot's meant to be mad in the books but this was more useful to me. 
> 
> I thought that there could be an interesting discussion around Grindlewald/WW2/First Wizarding War - like having magic and being able to put a stop to that - but at what price? Could be some good questions. Is it worth breaking the statute of secrecy in that situation? Grindlewald could start by wanting to stop oppression, but then deciding that the only way to stop it for good is complete control. He doesn't see the irony in this - he thinks that he is doing 'the greater good' for Muggles. This could be where Dumbledore's like...no, that's not right. His recognition of that's not morally right and meddling too far could be what breaks them apart. It could explore the idea of free will and the problem of evil, even. Idk, a prequel film examining that would be difficult to pull off but really interesting..
> 
> (I don't condone Grindlewald's actions, I just think that HP would benefit from a more complex villain than just plain evil wizard overlord.)
> 
> Anyway Jojo Rabbit is a really good film set during WW2 and should be talked about more
> 
> As always thank you for the comments! It's the reason I keep writing - if I don't reply, it's because I can only say thank you xx


	15. 15

(A/N): Guinness

15

Bathilda Bagshot was in a medically, magically induced coma.

They found this out by tuning into Potterwatch when they touched down in Little Hangleton at eleven o’clock that evening. It seemed bizarre to Harry that only a few hours earlier, they had been setting off on foot to Godric’s Hollow. That it was even still the same day. They still sat in the car – Ron’s hands still on the steering wheel, as they listened.

“–Found a short ways from her village, Godric’s Hollow,” Lee Jordan said. “Bagshot had a nasty snakebite, a broken hip and multiple fractures up her spine. Villagers who rushed to her help managed to keep her stable until an antidote could be brewed, but she’s currently in St Mungo’s whilst the doctors work on healing her body.”

There was silence in the car. Harry’s hand throbbed under the bandages.

“She was burbling about you-know-who when they found her, who had apparently burst in on her when she was talking to two boys about her history. Her description did not match Harry Potter, but it’s entirely possible that he was in disguise, given the company who joined shortly after.”

Harry rested his forehead on Draco’s shoulder, not wanting to hear any more. He hated that – being talked about like a cryptid. Like there should be a prize for anyone who spotted him. He hated that Bathilda Bagshot was very badly hurt because of his and Draco’s curiosity.

He hated that one of the horcruxes was a living snake and he had no idea how they were going to kill that. Not when it would be so close to Voldemort all the time.

Ron and Hermione kept listening to Potterwatch, though it was only more news of dead Muggles and wizards that churned Harry’s stomach. Fred and George came on to do a segment on safety, and yet they were more serious than Harry had ever heard them.

“Well,” Hermione said, when it was finally over. “We should – set up the tent for the night. Maybe take watch in case…”

She didn’t need to finish.

“I’ll take first watch,” Ron said. He still had not moved a muscle. “You get some rest.”

“No, I will.” Harry looked up from Draco. “I don’t feel tired.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance, that Harry didn’t appreciate, but they seemed to realise it was useless to disagree with him. So, they cast protective magic, set up the tent and built a fire. Harry sat by it, with a cup of soup balanced in his good hand, staring out at the blackness.

He did feel tired – bone tired, but he did not want to sleep. How could he after being in Voldemort’s mind? Narcissa’s advice came to him, and he focused on that. On strengthening his mind so that he would never have those thoughts again. The grim pleasure that the man had at seeing Draco, his contempt for his friends.

The want to kill. To kill and not think twice about it. That was the worst part.

He stared out at the fields around them, trying not to think about it and yet only thinking of it in an endless, horrible cycle – until Ron tapped him on the shoulder. Harry’s soup had gone cold. He nodded to Ron, then stepped into the tent.

Hermione was buried in her sleeping bag on one of the top bunks. She turned, and a book fell from under her pillow to the floor. The clatter didn’t wake her.

Draco was on the bottom bunk, the ends of his hair still dark and his skin ghostly white. He’d slept there because Harry wouldn’t be able to get onto the top bunk with his hand.

He slipped in next to him. Draco’s arm immediately came around his waist, pulling them together like quotation marks. He felt Draco’s mouth on his neck, kissing him lazily.

“I won’t let him get in your head,” Draco murmured, because of course he knew what was bothering Harry.

“I know,” Harry whispered.

“You fucking terrified me.” Draco pulled him closer, his fingers digging in. Harry stayed silent, still feeling wide awake. “I thought you were going to _die_.”

That was the one thing Draco had. Harry. He’d lost everything because of Harry and now he had almost lost that.

“I won’t die on you,” Harry said.

“Can you promise me?” Draco’s voice was sharp. He pressed their foreheads together, so that Harry could only see a blur of grey.

There was a lump in the back of Harry’s throat. “I want to.”

But he couldn’t. He’d not hesitated with his wand, he’d done nothing wrong, but the snake had been too fast today. And he had almost died. It seemed there wasn’t a lot they could do to avoid mortal peril.

He could try – he didn’t _want_ to leave Draco – he didn’t want to die. But he couldn’t guarantee that. One mistake, one moment of not being fast enough, and that would be it. Just like today. The snake had been faster.

Draco pressed his face against Harry’s neck and he could feel damp eyelashes on his skin, muttering, “idiot.”

His own eyes felt wet. But it wasn’t the thought of dying that scared him. And that was the thing that worried him. He should have been so happy to be alive. Should be coming to terms with the fact he could have died. Maybe it was because he had a habit of near-death experiences.

But it was not being with Draco – of leaving Draco behind to mourn him – that scared him more.

*

They had a quiet day. Harry did not fall asleep until the sun was starting to rise, and he dozed for most of the morning. Dipping out of dreams where he was late for class at Hogwarts. He woke for food – when he smelt Ron burning toast over the fire.

Draco brought it to him. He’d changed his tune from the night before, and was doting to the point of sarcastic.

“For the brave hero,” he said, pressing the crust of toast to Harry’s mouth. He bit into it, not wanting to point out that he still had _one_ good hand.

“What were you talking about with Bathilda Bagshot, anyway?” Hermione asked.

“Grindlewald,” Harry replied. That thought, and that Hermione was pouring over _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ again, jogged his memory. “He wore the same symbol in that book.”

“Maybe Grindlewald left it as a declaration of love.” Draco continued feeding Harry the toast. It was a sweet enough gesture, but Harry was sure that he was missing his mouth on purpose. He had a smear of butter across his cheek.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was the two of them as a couple, or Dumbledore and Grindlewald as a couple that exhausted her.

“That’s just another reason to visit the Lovegoods,” she said. “That symbol keeps appearing.”

“But it’s nothing to do with the horcruxes, is it?” Harry said. “Shouldn’t we focus on finding them, first?”

“I’m _sure_ this is important!” Hermione cried.

“It’s Grindlewald’s mark,” Draco said. “Everyone knows that. Dumbledore and Grindlewald were –“ His lips quirked upwards, as though in triumph. “Close. It’s in his book because of that.”

“And Xenophilius was a supporter of Grindlewald?”

“Maybe.”

“Nonsense.”

Ron stuck his head back into the tent, then, with a skewer full of blackened toast. “If it was just a leftover from the war, then why would Dumbledore leave it to Hermione? I mean, the Delluminator had its use, why not the book?”

“Because it’s the delluminator,” Harry said. “It’s helpful.”

He received a haughty look from Hermione for suggesting that a book of fairy tales wasn’t.

“What story is it written by, anyway?” Ron asked. It was an obvious redirection, but it worked. Hermione turned to the page.

“The Tale of Three Brothers,” she said. “Do you know it?”

Both Ron and Draco said yes. Harry stayed silent, and pretended to be crumbs from his cheek.

Draco noticed, and smirked. “Perhaps you had better loan Potter the book.”

“Ah, no – my head. Hurts too much to read.”

“Then Granger will read it to you.” Draco’s smirk was wolfish now, as Hermione gave him an indignant look. “Unless you’d like me to give you a bedtime story?”

“I’d prefer your bedtime stories didn’t involve a book,” Harry muttered.

Draco laughed at that. Then he kissed him, deeply, allowing Harry to discover that the only time his wrist didn’t hurt was when his tongue was in Draco’s mouth.

Hermione’s look was now reproachful, but she nevertheless started reading. The Tale of Three Brothers trying to trick Death and only one succeeding. Hermione’s voice was strong, and clear, and Harry found himself lolling back on his pillows, half-closing his eyes. It didn’t help that Draco lay next to him, hitching Harry’s shirt up enough to rub the tip of his thumb in circles just above his hip.

They were silent when Hermione finished, and Harry found himself yawning, tilting his face so that it was pressed against Draco’s forehead. Like Paris, he told himself. A colder, damper, more painful Paris.

He was almost back off to sleep, when Ron said, “well, knowing the Lovegoods, they probably believe that the cloak and the stone and the wand are real.”

Harry thought of the objects – a powerful wand, a stone that could bring back the dead, an invisibility cloak. The shapes of them appeared in his minds eyes and –

“Wait,” he said, aloud. Because two of the shapes seemed – “Wait – I have an idea.”

He scrambled out of the bunkbed, much to Draco’s grumpy protests and Hermione’s concerned ones. But he still slipped out and onto the floor, reaching for the quill on the table.

Then he realised that it was his writing hand that had been bitten, and put it back down.

“Here.” He eased the book out of Hermione’s hand, flipping to the start of the story. “This – the line, that could be the wand from the story, couldn’t it? And the circle – that could be a pebble. And then – well, I suppose if you hold an invisibility cloak up, it looks like a triangle.”

Hermione and Ron stared at him. Probably thinking that there was still some of Nagini’s venom in him.

“Maybe,” Harry added.

“You said You-Know-Who is looking for Grindlewald,” Ron said. He tapped the table with his fingers as he thought. “He was meant to have a _really_ powerful wand.”

“Ron, you can’t possibly think –“

“I’m not saying it is the wand,” he said. “But maybe he _thought_ it was. Or something like it.”

“You’re saying that Dumbledore and Grindlewald were searching for objects from a fairy story?” Hermione’s face was pink and she wore the same expression she had in divination class.

Ron looked immediately bashful, and a little hurt. He shrugged.

“Sounds like something Dumbledore would do,” Draco called from the bed.

“Your opinion isn’t valid, because you never liked him in the first place,” Hermione snapped.

“Potter doesn’t like him, either.”

“That’s ridiculous! Harry – Dumbledore loved you.” She turned to him, and the look on her face was painfully earnest. She _believed_ that.

He wished he could.

“Aberforth was right,” he muttered. “If he loved me, he wouldn’t make me do this.”

“It’s not his fault. He didn’t _mean_ to – to die.”

“There was a lot more he could have told me,” Harry said, and it made him sound petulant. He ran his hand through his hair and added, “he could have stopped me from being in TriWizard Tournament, if he cared about me. Never mind the graveyard, I wouldn’t have almost died two other times.”

He felt a sudden lump in his throat and ducked his head. Because if he hadn’t been involved in the tournament, then Cedric wouldn’t have died. If Dumbledore had protected him, then maybe he’d have stayed safe at Hogwarts, and Voldemort would never be back.

Which wasn’t quite fair, because it was no doubt a matter of time before he was there, one way or another. But maybe – if he’d been more closely watched –

“Look,” Ron said. “Let’s take a look around Little Hangleton today. Maybe we’ll find something. If not, then we’ll head to Lovegood’s for more information.”

“Do you know their address?” Hermione asked.

“I know they live close to us,” Ron said. “And I bet they’re easy to find.”

He’d ever so tactfully changed the subject, and Harry was grateful for that. Grateful that Hermione was looking at Ron instead of him, so that he could wipe his eyes with his one good hand.

It seemed like all he was doing recently was thinking about how different things could have been. And it was distracting him from the present.

*

Harry needed to rest, according to Hermione. She brewed another batch of antidote, just in case, and he struggled to swallow it down. He promptly fell back asleep next to Draco whilst she and Ron looked around the town.

That continued for three days. Ron and Hermione would walk to Little Hangleton in the afternoon, disguised, and wouldn’t make it back until late in the evening, when their cheeks would be flushed and they would be pressed against each other to fend off the cold. They brought more food – more tins to heat, apples, oranges and a collection of misshapen carrots.

Harry was left in the tent, and Draco stayed to ‘keep him company.’ It meant both their necks were covered in purple and red marks. Draco suggested they made the most of their time alone. It felt as though it had been forever, since that time in Paris, that Harry felt awkward and embarrassed all over again – especially with one hand still in a sling.

Fortunately, there was a wizard’s chess set in Hermione’s bag, and Harry founded Strip Wizard’s Chess. It was great until Hermione and Ron had found them both sat in the freezing cold in their underwear. The game was retired early.

He suggested teaching Draco how to cast a patronus. Draco kissed Harry until his mouth was numb and he had forgotten about the proposal.

On the evening of the third day, Ron and Hermione brought back two bottles of wine from the town, and they sat outside of the tent, sharing them around. He’d missed alcohol – missed feeling light and fuzzy. Missed the way alcohol made him and his friends funny. Made Draco’s touch feel like electic. He loved this, he decided. Loved being here, with his friends, just _being_.

He even got to take the sling off. The lump on his hand had disappeared, but there were still two angry red marks in his wrist. He kept it bandaged.

The next morning, Ron offered to show him around, and Harry jumped at the chance. As much as he loved Draco – spending time with Draco – he’d felt as though he was going mad, stuck inside that tent.

So they headed off down the hill to the tiny village. It was similar to Godric’s Hollow – all of the houses were little and old. Unlike Godric’s Hollow, there seemed to be more Muggles than wizards. There were no robe-shops or books selling Rita Skeeter’s latest work. There were charity shops and supermarkets instead.

“There’s The Hanged Man.” Ron nodded to a pub on the corner. “Me and Hermione have been popping in there, when the Dementors start patrolling.”

“Some investigating you’ve been doing.” But Harry was simply a little jealous that he could not go.

“Oy.” Ron nudged him with his elbow. “We figured a seedy place like that would be the best place to overhear about that mark. If its to do with Grindlewald.”

“How were you even served?” Harry asked.

“They think we’re eighteen.” Ron shrugged.

Harry thought about that. About Ron and Hermione tucked into the corner of a pub with alcohol. Thought about how they came back, laughing with a sparkle in their eyes.

“And what do you talk about?” he pressed. “When you’re overhearing things?”

Ron turned pink like clockwork. He became very interested in the display of a Muggle clothes shop, staring at it until Harry nudged him with his hip.

“Well, I don’t actually do a lot of talking,” Ron admitted. “Hermione does. I just let her go off on one.”

Harry laughed as it all clicked together. Ron’s face went from pink to red.

“What?”

“Have you asked her out yet?”

“Well –” Ron rubbed at his cheeks as though he could get the colour to disappear. “I never said –”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that!” Ron’s voice was almost a squeak, and Harry laughed again. There were Muggles about on the street, but no one noticed them. They were invisible, and he wished it could be like this more of the time. That they could be lads talking about boy things more.

Ron sighed, and scratched the back of his neck as they continued down the high street.

“I haven’t had much luck, have I?” he said. “I mean – Lavender Brown was a good snogger, but I only really stayed with her because she seemed to fancy me so much and I liked that feeling. And then there was the love potion thing – but that felt like – an obsession potion, you know? And then Nott –”

“Nott?” Harry stopped, staring at Ron.

“Nothing – I mean, nothing happened,” Ron said, quickly – the kind of tone he would use to convince Harry that he was one hundred percent straight. “It’s just – there was a time when I didn’t know if maybe –”

Nott had flirted with Ron. Even Harry had seen that. But the thought made Ron look so uncomfortable that he didn’t point it out.

“But – well, Hermione’s different, isn’t she?” he asked. “Even when she’s arguing with me, it feels like – I’ve earnt the right to argue back. She listens to my points. So I _think_ I like her, but I – I can’t imagine she likes me very much.”

Ron started to slope off, into the pub, and Harry followed, though he felt uneasy. It looked exactly the sort of place where Dark Wizards gathered. He was in his disguise from a few nights ago, but it was hardly robust.

“Why would she, when the Chosen One’s around?”

They didn’t mention it – that argument in fourth year. And Ron didn’t even sound too bitter about it, but it was still there. A jealousy that he was clearly trying not to let get the better of him.

Still, Harry wanted to laugh.

“She screamed when she saw me topless last week,” he said.

“Well – we both thought that we’d walked in on –“ Ron cleared his throat, and did not answer, holding open the door of the pub for Harry. It was dimly lit inside, and much warmer. But full of dark figures, talking in low voices.

“She looks disgusted whenever I kiss Draco.”

“I think that’s more her dislike for him. He’s got this way of snogging you and making eye contact with someone else at the same time with this smug look.” Ron shuddered. “And maybe she’s jealous of Draco because he’s the one doing the snogging.”

“I don’t think there’s ever been a moment in Hermione’s life where she’s wanted to snog me.”

Ron gave him a look. Then ordered two pints from the bar. Normal beers – that made Harry miss The Three Broomsticks. Warm and sweet butterbeer instead of the cold and bitter normal stuff. He gagged at the taste.

They got a table in the far corner, close to the electric fire. Ron told Harry that it was fascinating – Hermione had explained how it had worked and “muggles really were fantastic, weren’t they?”

Harry told him to keep his voice down, because muggles certainly didn’t say the word ‘muggles.’

“You really don’t think Hermione fancies you?” Ron asked. Harry shook his head. Ron smiled hopefully, then continued, “so who was winning your wizards chess?”

Harry was pleased to say that it looked as though he had been. They delved into a conversation about tactics and for a moment, it was just as though they were back in the Gryffindor Common Room. They reminisced about that too – the long Winter holidays they’d spent in first year playing it for hours on end. When Harry had still thought it was magical and amazing – not part of every day life.

But then Harry heard the name ‘Lovegood’ mentioned behind them, and froze. For a moment, he thought that he was being silly – that he’d only heard that because it was on his mind. The name ‘Quibbler’ soon came after it, though.

Ron saw his expression, and quietened too.

There were two men near the electric fire, warming their hands with a pint of Guinness each. Harry instantly took a dislike to them based on that.

“-Take measures against him,” one man said. He had a broken nose and the overall demeanour of a retired rugby player.

“Like what? No one reads that stupid magazine,” said the other. There was something rat-like about his nose and mouth. “Unless it’s for a laugh.”

“People are. It’s the only paper that’s telling people to help Potter.”

Rat Mouth snorted and received a glare. Harry, on the other hand, flipped his collar up, and pulled the brim of his baseball hat lower.

“Look – its orders from up top. Get the Quibbler to change its tune by any measures necessary.”

“So – what?” Rat Mouth asked. “Give him a good scare?”

“Needs more incentive than that. Better to have something to hold against him. Something…perishable.”

There was a cold feeling in Harry’s stomach. Ron’s eyes were wide as he stared at him over the table.

“Doesn’t he have a daughter at Hogwarts? Wouldn’t she be easy enough to take.”

“Sure. Snape would probably hand her right over.” Broken nose laughed, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw them step closer. “Here – give us this table, why don’t you?”

They were stood in front of them. Death Eaters, or at least people working for them.

Ron got up, taking his pint with him. “Yeah, whatever, we were getting out of here anyway.”

Harry followed suit, his heart pounding. He had not taken his wand – his hand still felt too weak to grip it, and he felt its absence painfully.

“They’ve still got a whole pint between them.” Rat Mouth chuckled as they stepped away.

“Bless ‘em, probably their first drink.”

For a moment, it looked as though they were going to make it out without a problem, but then Rat Mouth grabbed Ron’s arm, and pulled him back.

“Red hair?” he said. “What people do we know with red hair who are one son short recently?”

Ron tried to press out of the man’s grip, but it tightened.

“Don’t be thick,” Broken Nose said. “As if he’s a Weasley.”

“What’s a Weasley?” Ron asked.

There were a few people looking at them now, and Harry knew that they would not be able to start a wandfight in here. Not surrounded by so many Muggles.

Maybe Broken Nose had the same thought. “Leave the kid alone.”

“No – hold on –” Rat Mouth was really peering at Ron now, and his eyes started swivelling to Harry.

He dropped the glass in his hand, splashing his shoes with beer.

Everyone around them stopped and stared – some people cheered and laughed, thinking that it was one of the waiters.

Ron took the opportunity to slip out or Rat Mouth’s grip, taking Harry’s shoulder and turning him around. There was already a waiter coming over with a dustpan and brush.

They pushed through the crowd, playing two embarrassed and underaged teenagers and quickly made it to the door. Once they were back out in the street, they headed down the first alleyway they could, pressing against the brick wall and waiting to see if they were being followed.

“Shit,” Ron whispered. “That was close.”

“You don’t say.”

“Luna’s in trouble.”

“I heard.” Harry’s mind was going haywire. With three days sat around not doing a lot, suddenly he felt overwhelmed with information. “Well – we have the medallions. Maybe we can send a message that way?”

“We could go back to Hogwarts. It’d be easy to fly in now that the car goes invisible.”

Harry shook his head. “That sounds dangerous.”

“So’s sticking round here.”

The two men passed, and they both pressed further against the wall, turning away from the alley mouth. Harry could hear them arguing.

“Besides,” Harry hissed. “We can’t get there faster than them – they can still apparate.”

Ron frowned. He stepped to the mouth of the alley, his eyes on the two retreating figures.

“We’d better back to the tent,” he said.

So they did. Omitting the part where they were almost caught, in case Hermione scolded them.

Draco grabbed Harry’s hand, tightly, when he heard the threat against Luna. They had some kind of friendship Harry had never quite got his head around, so it must have been a nasty shock.

There was a tense silence as they thought over this new information. Then Hermione drew a length of parchment out of her bag, and put it on the table.

“So – our to do list starts with ‘find a way to save Luna,’” she said, writing it down. “Then, find the remaining horcruxes and destroy them. With the snake that means there are –“

Harry counted on his fingers. “Three left. And one’s Nagini.”

“Find two – kill one.” Hermione jotted down. “And then there’s that rune mark – that _could_ be what you-know-who is looking for, that wand. Should we worry about that?”

“Doesn’t matter until we can destroy the horcruxes,” Harry said. “And its not like we’re making any headway on that. Luna’s the only one we can do.”

“But _how_?” Hermione asked.

“The Death Eaters.” Draco cut across them. There was a distant look in his eye, but a determined set to his mouth. “We’ll tail them.”

“But we lost sight of them,” Ron said.

Draco was already standing, pulling Harry to his feet. “Then we’ll have to work quickly, won’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): So I can't write filler to save my life...after these next two/three chapters, things will calm down for a bit. There'll still be plenty of Drarry, and that patronus is coming...
> 
> As always, thank you so so much for the comments - they are what keep me writing this fanfic. If I don't reply, it's because I can only say 'thank you!!' and I don't want to bother you with the notif lol. Please do leave thoughts because they mean the world
> 
> And I'll see you next week xx


	16. 16

Polyjuice and voices

16

They followed the Death Eaters. Ron suggested taking the car, but it would have been too difficult to spot them from it, especially given the lighting, so they left it at the campsite, and hurried off on foot. It was drizzling now, but they simply pulled their hoods up and hurried along.

Draco knew tracking spells – the kind that lit their footprints up in the dark. When Harry asked where he’d learnt that, he smirked.

“In one of dear old Daddy’s books,” he said. “Death Eaters used it in the first wizarding war. But I would say this is quite useful.”

It was the point that he kept coming back to. About Dark Magic being an arbitrary label.

“So it was used to track people down and –“ Question. Torture. Kill.

Draco shrugged. “This spell has nothing to do with the unforgivable.”

Which he supposed was true, but there was just something that niggled him. Because this was different. Context was important. He opened his mouth to argue, and was shushed by Hermione.

The men stopped in the Little Hangleton graveyard. Harry was pressed behind a gravestone when he realised that he’d done that before. Been here before. This was the graveyard where Voldemort had –

His chest felt tight. He remembered Cedric – eyes staring but not seeing, skin pale so that a streak of dirt looked all the more out of place.

“Is there even anywhere we take prisoners?” The man’s voice jolted Harry out of the past. He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes, to try and get rid of the image. Tried not to gasp his breaths, but it felt as though he couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t think there’s a lot of them.” The other man – Rat Mouth, Harry recognised – was clearly thinking hard. “No one’s been leaving any. Guess we should head to Lestrange.”

There was a shared snicker at this. Harry saw Ron glance around the gravestone near him. His face caught the moonlight and his expression was livid. He could almost hear the way Ginny had screamed spells at Bellatrix after she had –

He swallowed. Had been so lost that he only heard the second half of what Broken Nose said “ – Have family back at the Manor.”

They were laughing again. Could have passed for two ordinary men who’d drunk one too many beers. The next moment, there was a crack, and when Harry peered around the side of the gravestone, he saw that they were gone.

It was Draco’s turn to look livid. He stood next to Harry, a hand on the gravestone to support himself.

Hermione leapt up, pulling her hair back into a bushy ponytail.

"They can't apparate to Hogwarts," she said. "They'll be at Hogsmede. We might be able to catch them before they -"

"No, we won't." Ron's fists were clenched. "If we apparate – we could attract a swarm of Death Eaters. By the time we get up to Hogwarts, they’ll already be off."

Harry realised a beat too late where there was. Bellatrix. Family. Manor.

Malfoy Manor.

"He's right." Draco looked as though he was going to be sick. "Our best bet is to go straight there."

Hermione bit her lip. She hesitated. "You don't have to go if you don't want to."

"I'm not letting this one out of my sight, if I can help it." He took hold of Harry's arm. "But it would be better if I went alone. I could say that I had a change of heart. They'd let me in -"

Harry took hold of Draco's chin, turning him to face him. "I'm not letting you do that."

"Oh, for Goodness sake." Any softness Hermione had was gone.

"They'd torture you for information," Harry said. "You know that."

Draco took a breath, and Harry could feel he'd been shaking at the thought. His fingers fell away from Draco's jaw, and stung with the cold.

"Well, I have a score to settle if Bellatrix is really there," Ron said.

Hermione huffed at him next. "Oh, don't you start acting hard."

"We'll have to go,” Harry said. “There, I mean. We’ll just – sneak in, grab Luna and sneak out.”

“As though it’s that easy.” Draco’s hand dropped away from Harry.

“There must be a secret passage or something,” Harry continued. “It’s a huge, old manor. They always have secret passages.”

“This isn’t Scooby Doo.” Hermione rolled her eyes. The reference left Ron and Draco lost. “And it’s much too risky for you to go – you’ll be killed if you’re found.”

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise at that. He glanced around to see a huge, marble headstone he recognised. Tom Riddle Senior’s.

“I won’t be killed if I’m not recognised,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn away from the grave. Back to his friends. “We still have polyjuice potion.”

“I don’t think it will matter,” Hermione said, helplessly. “If they find me and Ron and Draco they’ll immediately know that it’s you. Who else would we be travelling with?”

“Theo.”

They all stared at Draco. The rain was coming down harder now, and it felt like tiny bullets of ice piercing Harry’s skin. It landed on his glasses, so that he had to peer around white spots.

“We don’t have Nott’s hair,” he managed to say.

“We do,” Draco said. Was looking over Harry’s shoulder. “I have.”

Again, they could only stare, shocked at the information. The rain was dripping down Harry’s back now, and he shivered. It was agreed that they should go back to the car and the tent. The walk back was cold and miserable. Harry felt tense – knowing that Luna was most likely in Death Eater hands already and they weren’t helping. There were doing _nothing_.

When they got back, Draco fished a tiny tinderbox out of one of Harry’s hoodies. He’d seen it before, he realised, and hadn’t thought anything of it. But when Draco slid it open, he could see that there was a handful of dark hairs there.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. That Draco had another boy’s hair with them all this time.

“Before he went on the run, we exchanged them,” he said. “Just in case – I needed to be him, or he needed to be me.”

Harry caught Draco’s eye. He didn’t need to say it, he was sure that it was written on his face.

“It was a secret,” he said. “And I didn’t think I’d ever use them.”

There was a pause. Harry felt a stir of anger, and forced it down. This wasn’t worth starting a fight over. But that didn’t mean he was happy with it. It was for a practical enough reason, but – there was a bundle of feelings that he couldn’t put his finger on in his stomach.

Well, he knew one. Envy. But that wasn’t something he wanted to admit to.

Hermione was nodding. That was good enough for her, even if Ron looked as though he was in physical pain. Their earlier conversation just became very ironic.

“Right then. Let’s get going.” Ron managed to say, face red.

They did. It always felt as though they were packing the tent down and getting in the car in a rush, now. At least the magic helped with that, if it couldn’t help with the travel.

In ten minutes, they were in the air and Hermione was passing energy drinks round. It looked as though it would be another sleepless night, but that was becoming a common occurrence too.

Draco sat in the passenger’s seat, directing Ron on where to fly. He gave the outline of his plan, and Harry did not like it. It filled him with unease.

“We should all stay together,” he said.

“You can’t fit more than one person under the invisibility cloak,” Hermione said. “He’s right – this way, there will be a distraction. You might even learn more about the Horcruxes, if You-Know-Who’s really using it as a base, and you play your cards right.”

“I really don’t like it when the two of you agree,” Harry muttered. He had the Polyjuice potion in his hand and the hair was already added. They were just waiting to be close enough.

There was a lot that he wanted to add. About how bad it would be for Draco to return home. To return to his father. About how worried he was for him. But Draco’s brow was furrowed, and there was a determined glint in his eye. And Ron liked the plan just fine.

So Harry was outvoted.

It was the early hours of the morning when Ron landed the car in the fields near Malfoy Manor. There were a few trees around it, but it still looked like a bear trying to hide behind a twig. They pressed the invisibility booster and hoped that it would hold. It still had a tendency to cut out.

Harry took the Polyjuice potion behind the car for some privacy – the familiar feeling of writhing snakes filling his throat as he did so. It did not help, he thought, as his skin burnt and itched like melting wax, that Nott’s hair hadn’t made the potion disgusting. It had tasted like crab apples and blackberries. That, and the fact he was an inch taller than Harry, seemed to just add insult to injury.

There had been a time he thought Draco fancied Nott. And though he’d become friends with him, that envy had never quite subsided. Nott’s dark hair waved in a way that made it look tousled instead of untameable, his skin was like alabaster – so that shadows inevitably cast over it and showed off that straight nose and jaw.

He changed into one of Draco’s shirts and clean jeans, trying to be grown-up and mature about this.

But he couldn’t. When he had thought it over in the car, he’d thought that he’d enjoy being Nott. Get rid of the glasses and the bird’s nest hair. The kind of person he’d always wanted to look that. Instead, he just felt strange.

Maybe because Draco maintained that, no matter what Harry may think, that Harry was handsome. Maybe because being told he looked like his mother, and not his father, had made him feel a new satisfaction in his stomach.

Maybe it was because Ron was pointedly not meeting his eye, and his ears were still bright red. And Draco wasn’t quite looking at him either, though squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“Try not to let them see your wand.” Hermione looked indifferent to him, though she kept glancing towards Ron, as though she was trying to read his pained expression. “There’s a description of it in the Prophet.”

“Right,” Harry said. Wondered if Nott’s voice was deeper, richer than his, or if he was just imagining things.

There was a pause. Harry rubbed the back of his neck. Draco caught his wrist and pulled it down. He supposed that Theodore Nott did not do that.

“Well, then,” Hermione said. “Let’s go.”

They set off, pressing jackets against their chests. It was still very dark, but the moon was bright and it lit their way. (And Harry realised with a jolt that it was halfway full once more.) It was truly autumn now, the trees on the Malfoy estate were fiery oranges. Despite what Hermione had said, it _did_ look like something from Scooby Doo – a huge old-fashioned manor with wrought iron fencing.

“There’s a side gate,” Draco said. “Use that – the password is _cauda draconis_. If they haven’t changed it.”

“And if they have?” Ron asked.

Draco shrugged. It wasn’t comforting. The answer then, Harry reasoned, would be to break in anyway. But still, the two of them (Hermione casting a disillusionment charm, Ron huddled in the invisibility cloak) veered towards the side of the fence.

Harry and Draco kept walking.

“I take it I can’t ask anything about your family history?” Harry muttered.

Draco didn’t glance at him. “No.”

“Or how you’re feeling?”

“No.”

“What we’ll do if any part of this doesn’t go to plan?”

“I never pick holes in _your_ plans like this, Potter.”

“My plans never involve strolling right up to evil family members.”

Draco finally looked at him, expression unreadable. “Evil is a strong word. My father could have been a lot worse. He could have beaten me, or my mother, or – locked us in a cupboard under the stairs.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the choice of words. “ _Did_ he ever lock you in a cupboard?”

Draco wiped a hand over his mouth, and Harry could see that he was smirking slightly. “Only for five minutes. And only when I tried to turn the cat into a tea cosy for Mother’s day. Ended up making it hairless.”

Harry snickered, and Draco leant against him as he laughed too. It was nervous energy – every one of his nerves was standing on end. And not just because they were getting closer and closer towards the gate – towards Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy and fuck knew what else.

Because Harry’s boyfriend had been carrying around the hair of another boy with them. And it niggled at him. Made him feel awkward and restless.

He waited until they had both caught their breath. Both stopped laughing because it was no time to.

“Did you ever –” He couldn’t do it. His – Nott’s – voice died in his throat.

“Ever what?”

“I mean – you and Nott –”

“Shit – fuck, you really want to have that conversation _now_?” Draco stopped, ankle deep in fallen leaves. “When you –”

Look like him. But maybe it was the best time – when he could truly judge what was between them.

“I just – I know you said you were friends in first year –”

“You think I was lying?” Draco glared. “Do you not trust me?”

Anger stabbed through Harry at the unfairness of the statement. After everything – after all the shit they’d both been through – he thought that should be obvious. But it wasn’t the time to start a shouting match. He took a breath, intending to snap, but his voice was low and calm, instead.

“If I didn’t trust you, do you think I would let you take me straight to the Death Eater’s main hideout?” he asked. “Do you think I’d let you anywhere near a horcrux when I could see what it was doing to you?”

Draco was quiet. Harry could only see his pale hair, a glint of his eyes. The rest of him was a dark shape.

“He was my first kiss,” Draco whispered, barely audible over the wind. “But it wasn’t – it wasn’t like _that_. It was third year. We were just messing around – it only happened because we both thought we were gay. Both thought we were the only two gay kids in the whole house. The whole school.”

Harry thought he’d feel stung at that. But, horribly, he felt a stab of jealousy again. Because Draco had known from third year that he liked boys, but it had taken Harry two extra years, and even then, his feelings were a mess. He just knew that bisexual sounded right.

The idea itself wasn’t awful, though. It sounded a lot better than _his_ first kiss. (Which again, had taken two more years to get to.)

“Is he a good kisser?”

"Mon dieu, we were thirteen," Draco said.

"Alright." It made Harry feel just a little superior. “I mean – you can find out, if you want –“

"Come _on,_ you twat _._ " Draco's hand fumbled for his in the dark, tugging him along the side of the fence.

They fought their way through the leaves until they arrived at the main gate. It stood tall and Harry watched the dark rods twist themselves into a face – steep eyebrows, hawk nose, full lips.

“State your purpose.” The voice came from the iron.

Draco hesitated. His breath fanned white.

Harry brushed the back of his hand against Draco’s knuckles.

“It’s Draco. Draco Malfoy.”

The gates swung open. Harry was surprised they didn’t creak menacingly as they did – found himself slightly disappointed. They started down the path. He couldn’t take Draco’s hand again, now that they could be seen, although his face was whiter than ever, and his shoulders were trembling.

So he tried not to. Until a white shape leered at them from the shadows, and he grabbed Draco’s fingers.

To his surprise, Draco chuckled. He tugged Harry along.

“Peacock,” he said.

“You have _peacocks_?”

Draco didn’t answer. Just shook his head, and Harry could see a glint of his teeth. He was smirking. And let go of Harry’s hand.

They passed a few more ghostly white peacocks before arriving on the front porch of the manor. There were a few steps leading up to the front door, which had a large, iron knocker.

Draco rapped it. Three short, sharp knocks.

Then they waited. Harry’s heart was beating so loudly that he was sure that it was audible. In fact, he was just about to open his mouth to ask whether Draco was sure about this, when the door swung open.

Someone was standing there, with a candle. They shrieked as they took Draco in.

A shriek Harry recognised. It was Bellatrix, and that was the kind of shriek she gave before she killed someone.

Draco cleared his throat. Kept his eyes on the ground. Did his best to look small and sorry for himself. “I broke up with Potter.”

Harry tried not to look surprised. Though he wasn’t sure what expression Theodore Nott would have at that news. At following Draco home if he ever broke up with Harry.

“And?” Bellatrix asked. Her voice still high and piercing. “Now you come crawling back with –”

She was peering at him, now. Harry figured that Nott would still look nervous, but did his best to hide his loathing for her.

“My friend, Theodore Nott.” Draco didn’t miss a beat. “You’ll know his father.”

She continued staring, for just a moment, before she turned back to Draco.

“Friend?” The implication was clear.

“Just a friend.” Draco said. “It’s my house. Not yours.”

The candlelight flickered over Bellatrix’s face. It made the shadows around her eyes even darker, and the dark curls around her shoulders look like snakes.

“Poor little Draco,” she said. “You think your father is still in charge?”

Draco frowned. “He’s not – he’s not here?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s about. Scurrying along, wandless, his wife – well no one knows where Cissy disappeared off to after stabbing us all in the back.” For a moment, Bellatrix looked – sad? Wistful? Angry? Harry couldn’t tell – but then she smirked, titling her head to one side as she looked Draco over. “And of course, there’s your little…condition.”

It was like she expected Draco to clutch him arm and look pained. He didn’t. After a moment, he took a breath.

“Do you want information on Potter or not?”

Harry’s heart began to race. He trusted Draco – absolutely – but _what_ information? Surely they would fall apart under questioning. He certainly didn’t have this story.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. Swung the candle so that they glinted.

“You’ve had a sudden change of heart.”

“I said – we broke up.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Haven’t you ever wanted to get back at an ex?”

Bellatrix’s lips flickered. She liked this idea.

Draco stepped forward, his expression turning earnest and his voice softening. “Please, Aunt Bella? Can’t I stay just for the night?”

She wasn’t quite smiling yet. Instead, she was looking between Draco and Harry.

“There’s nothing going on here?”

Draco was still quiet. Sounded embarrassed, and Harry couldn’t tell if he was acting. “I said. We’re just friends.”

“Very well, my dear nephew.” Bellatrix stepped to one side, smiling in a sickeningly sweet fashion. Still smiling like that when Draco stepped forward and – with speed like a viper – she pushed him against the doorframe. “Because any _hint_ of your queerness might just _break_ your father. And I don’t want to pick up the pieces.”

Draco looked so white that he was in danger of becoming transparent. He nodded. And even though they were about the same height, he looked small in against her.

Bellatrix stepped back, but Draco stayed for a moment, pressed against the frame. There was a lost look on his face and his hands were trembling.

But then he followed her down the hallway, tossing words over his shoulder, “Come on, Nott.”

So Harry stepped into Malfoy Manor too. It was just as eerie inside. The hall was wide, so wide that the candle did not illuminate the walls. That made it worse. They were trapped in a small, amber circle, with Bellatrix Lestrange.

She wore a dark nightdress, the kind of dress that looked like it belonged in a movie, with short sleeves. The dark mark was clearly visible on her forearm, and the snake seemed to be twitching.

“I thought you and Potter were the perfect little couple?” Bellatrix said, a fake-pout in her voice. “Star-crossed lovers and all?”

“That was the problem.” An old venom snuck back into Draco’s voice. “He was _too_ perfect. I complain about anything, and he offers all these great solutions. He can never just say ‘that sounds bad.’”

“That sounds bad,” Bellatrix said.

Was that true? Harry didn’t think it was. He didn’t think he was perfect at all. But maybe thinking that was annoying too. _Was_ he really annoying?”

“So I left,” Draco said. “And I thought that you might be interested in his location. His plan.”

Bellatrix laughed. Long and loud, and it sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “Potter doesn’t have a plan!”

“Well, we’ll see in the morning, won’t we?” Draco smirked at her. He went to step away, but she held up a long-nailed finger.

“Oh no, Draco,” she said, softly. “The Dark Lord will need your information as soon as possible.”

Draco paused. Just for a moment. “Of course.”

She smiled, eyes glinting, looking very much like a cat playing with a mouse. “The dining room?”

Draco nodded. And followed Bellatrix as she headed in the opposite direction. This hallway was narrower, and the orange light flickered off stern-faced ancestors.

“How did your little friend join you?”

“Nott was running from his father.” Draco’s fingers ran over the names underneath the portraits. “We just happened to both be in Little Hangleton. So I convinced him to come with me – better to beg forgiveness, isn’t it?”

“Not with the Dark Lord.”

Draco’s fingers paused. “Are you calling him here? Tonight?”

“Only if he would have use of you.”

Harry was stuck a step between the two of them as Draco stared at her. “And if he doesn’t?”

Bellatrix smiled. Her teeth glinting in the candlelight. “Then I’ll find a use for you.”

Draco’s grey eyes were wide. Then he seemed to take a sudden breath, but started forwards. Didn’t look at Harry as he passed, and Harry felt helpless but to follow. Useless – he was completely and utterly useless right now. He could only guess what Bellatrix’s ‘use’ would be, and was sure that it would be unpleasant.

The dining room reminded him of Hogwarts. At least, it had a long, wooden table and everything echoed around them. But the furniture was dark, almost black, the green wallpaper had a pattern of thorns and ivy that seemed to twitch when it was in the corner of Harry’s vision. There was a huge Welsh dresser on the other side of the room. When Bellatrix lit the chandelier, Harry saw that it was mostly full of silver – a collection of antique sneakascopes on one shelf, but another looked like it belonged in Borgin and Burkes.

A house elf was summoned, was demanded to wake Lucius Malfoy.

There was a silver eye in the case. Before Harry could think about what he was doing, he tapped the glass.

The pupil snapped round to look straight at him.

Draco caught his hand as he jumped. “Don’t touch that.”

“What is it?”

But Draco just shook his head.

Bellatrix was watching them – that was worse than the silver eye. He wondered where Ron and Hermione were, and hoped they were close to finding Luna. Though he had no idea how they would get out now.

There was one thing that wasn’t silver in the case. A small, golden cup with a handle on each side. The strangest thing was that it had the Hufflepuff crest carved into it. The skin where Harry’s scar used to sit prickled.

“Brought some of your own belongings, have you Auntie?” Draco asked.

“Don’t touch that,” Bellatrix snapped. “It’s nothing for little boys to be concerned with.”

“Hufflepuff?” Draco scoffed, and was starting to sound like himself again. “You’ve always hated Hufflepuff.”

He tapped on the glass, and it was as though a shadow passed over his face. Harry recognised that look.

“I said leave it be, Draco.” There was an edge to Bellatrix’s voice.

“Unless.” Draco ignored her tone, turning back and raising an eyebrow. “Wasn’t your one of your aunts oddly fond of Newt Scamander? Wasn’t _he_ a Hufflepuff?”

There was a flash of light and Draco’s head whipped to the side as though he had been slapped. He staggered backwards, against the cabinet.

It took Harry a second to realise that it was _flippendo._ That Bellatrix had cast it and her expression was one of white-hot fury.

“Don’t _ever_ talk about Leta!” She was screaming. “She was a fool, and wasn’t worthy of our name.

Harry pressed back against the cabinet as well, his heart racing. The ghost of his scar was really prickling now, and he thought he knew why. He waited until Bellatrix’s wand was lowered, until she seemed satisfied that Draco had learnt his lesson. Until she was glancing towards the door, eager for company.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, touching Draco’s arm. Surely that was okay – what friends did.

Draco’s cheek was bright pink. But he nodded. And narrowed his eyes at Harry to say what he was thinking. It was Harry’s turn to nod.

The thing in the cabinet was a horcrux.

The person first through the door was not Lucius Malfoy. It was, Harry was horrified to see, Peter Pettigrew instead. He clutched at the wrist of his silver hand, as though he was scared it was going to turn around and grab at him.

It was only a few days ago that Harry stood at his parent’s cottage. The place that Pettigrew had meant to protect. Red hot anger filled his chest and though he took long breaths to make sure it didn’t show.

Lucius Malfoy was behind him.

He looked different to the last time Harry had seen him. His hair was unkempt, more grey than blonde and his skin was sallow instead of pale. It was his eyes that were the most unnerving – there was something animalistic there, like a rabbit hunted by a hound.

Bellatrix giggled, as he spotted Draco. The two of them stared at each other.

“Dear Draco chose Halloween to break up with Potter and come home,” she said.

Lucius Malfoy came forward, slowly, whilst Peter Pettigrew stayed near the wall, his eyes narrowed.

Draco stayed frozen. The last time he had seen his father, Harry realised, was the day he was bitten.

Lucius stopped only a few steps away from Draco. It was like he’d seen a ghost.

“I worried about you.”

Draco opened his mouth, and Harry was expecting a quip – something about his father’s last letter, which had come months ago, and was full of threats. But he closed it again.

His voice was small. “I don’t know where mother is.”

“We’ll find Cissy,” Bellatrix said, folding her arms and looking the image of a child whose favourite toy had been taken away. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“How are you?” Lucius asked, his voice strained. “How is –”

His pale fingers reached for Draco’s arm. He jerked it away.

Draco’s face twisted from pain to hate. “I’m coping.”

It wasn’t hate in the way that he’d hated Harry. This was absolute venom, and Lucius saw that. He draw his hand back, and looked down.

“There was nothing I could do.”

“Of course, there was.” Draco hissed. “The job of a father. Protection.”

Lucius’ expression changed just as quickly. Almost the same amount of venom. “You made your choice.”

Draco’s shoulders shook. He suddenly looked three years younger. Much smaller.

Harry didn’t think about it. He put his hand there, stepping to his side. Ready to pull his wand out of his waistband and fire a hex.

Bellatrix cooed. “Little Nott’s feeling left out of the reunion.”

Lucius saw him for the first time. His lip curled.

“And wait until _your_ father hears about this.”

It made Harry realise just how much danger they had put Nott in doing this. Hopefully, _no one_ would have to hear about it. Still, he had no idea what to say, and fumbled to think of a ‘Nott response.’

There was a loud crash downstairs that saved him from doing so.

Everyone in the room turned to the door.

“Go on then, Wormtail.” Bellatrix flicked her fingers at him, and he skittered off.

Harry, who had been immediately relieved, now realised who had made that crash. His heart performed an elaborate rollercoaster.

The plan was coming undone already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): In the books, polyjuice potion changes your voice too, but in the movies it doesn't. It probably doesn't in the movies to avoid confusion. (It's a lot easier to say who's who when they've used it in the books and have the reader understand.) I said ages ago that I hate it as a plot device, but this was a special case > >
> 
> Also - I don't think Lucius Malfoy was particularly abusive to Draco. Quinn Curio's Draco video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=RSP51vvBVys explains why. I think that Lucius' high expectations of Draco and pressure to follow Voldemort would have led to fear. Also (in this fic) being in the closest when you know your parents don't approve will add to that fear and pressure. That being said, he's not a great dad either.
> 
> As always - thank you for the comments and support on this fic!! If I didn't reply, it's either because I could only say 'thank you!! <3' or because I couldn't think of a reply that didn't give spoilers (either way.) It does mean a lot.
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this chapter was long and this was a big sequence to write. There's a lot of characters that need moments and I would rather take my time with it.
> 
> I'll see you all next week! I'm just going to rant for a bit below, so I starred it off because it's not related to the chap. xxx
> 
> *
> 
> Rowling's also been trash again so here's my two cents worth - men have dressed as women in the horror genre before - big two examples are Psycho (1960) and Silence of the Lambs (1991). Both characters were inspired by real life serial killer Ed Gein, who did dress as his mother. Its important to note that Gein has never been classified as trans for this. (He had many other issues.) And that both of these films were made in different times. (We've come a long way since 1991) They show very different views to what we expect now. (I actually had a friend who wrote about the transphobia in Silence of the Lambs. I love that movie but I don't think there's anything wrong with saying 'this element is outdated and harmful.') It's also interesting that more modern inspirations of Gein, like Bloodyface in American Horror Story: Asylum remove the women's dress aspect. So it seems safe to say modern horror is trying to move away from that, and that's partly why Rowling's new book is so gross. Her previous transphobic statements double down on that. Her beliefs her showing through and its honestly awful.
> 
> (There are other examples of trans people being painted as villains in the horror genre but I don't want to write that essay. Maybe on my horror blog though. Bottom line is its demeaning, harmful and gross.)
> 
> Anyway it's just strange that the men who didn't bother to read 50 Shades/Twilight bother calling it trash now seem to say you can't think a book is transphobic without reading it. > >
> 
> Anyway anyway burning a book and joking that its trash does not equate to oppressing free speech. (Particularly when the free speech is hateful.)
> 
> Here's a list of trans writers to support: www.yapride.org/2019/12/trans-ya-books-by-trans-authors/


	17. 17

There were a dozen different atmospheres in the room and they all made Harry uncomfortable. Bellatrix was expectant, gleeful at the prospect of intruders - at the prospect of hurting anyone. Lucius and Draco still glared at each other, betrayal and hurt – but Harry saw relief that they were both alive on their faces too. It all culminated in silence. There was the dark feeling that the horcrux behind him was emitting. And his own panic and desperation.

Bellatrix wandered around the table, running her wand along the top of it. It came close to Draco too. She smiled at him, as though she could see through the facade.

"We did miss you Draco." Her wand tip tapped his cheek. He turned away from it. "You look more and more like Cissy every day. Doesn't he, Lucius?"

Lucius was sat at the table, and looked at the space above Draco's head. He made a non-committal noise.

Draco didn't even do that. He stared at the wooden floor. Bellatrix waited for a moment, before she turned her attention on Harry.

"And _your_ father's doing rather well for himself."

Knott's father had put him under the imperius curse last year. Since then, he hadn't mentioned him.

"Oh," was the reply Harry came up with. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. He tried to be like Draco. Nervous and fearful came easy, but it was harder to translate then into meekness. "He's not – angry?"

"He's furious." She watched his expression, and he must have done a suitable job of looking scared because her wand tapped his shoulder and her eyes sparkled. "But I'm sure he'll forgive you with my blessing."

"How do we get your blessing, Aunt Bella?" Draco asked. He was facing the cabinet now, and it was like the cup was reflected in his eyes. There was that expression from when he had the locket.

He had asked what made dark magic dark.

Harry trusted Draco. Completely. He pushed that to the front of his mind.

The sound of spells and shouting came from downstairs. A thump. A cry. Then the sound of voices. Footsteps on the stairs.

Pettigrew came back, with the two Death Eaters from Little Hangleton in tow. They each held Hermione and Ron respectively. Rat Mouth had their wands in his hands. Hermione gave them an apologetic look. There was a cut on her cheekbone.

Ron, on the other hand, was glaring at Bellatrix Lestrange. She leant against the corner of the cabinet, too close to Harry for him to feel safe, still messing with her wand.

"What a busy night we have," she said.

"Found them sneaking into the cellar," Crooked Nose said.

Bellatrix's face morphed into one of contempt. "You don't even know who you have, do you?"

Lucius rolled his eyes, still at the table, and seeming to pounce on the distraction. "Idiots."

"Go on, then, Lucius - redeem yourself." Her voice dripped with patronisation, and Draco frowned at her.

"It's Potter's friends. Weasley." Lucius nodded to Ron. "And the Mudblood.”

“Don’t call her that,” Ron snarled. He fought against the hands gripping him, and received a blow to the stomach for his trouble. It did not curb the look he was giving Bellatrix.

Draco, on the other hand, looked impassively at the two of them. "That's them."

“We came to get Draco back,” Hermione said. “Before he gets Harry killed.”

“And Potter didn’t come for his _special_ little friend?” Bellatrix’s tone was playful, but she looked suspicious. Tapped Draco on the head with her wand, and this time he flinched, just slightly.

“It was too dangerous to bring Harry,” Hermione said.

Draco scoffed. Bellatrix laughed. Lucius sneered.

“"But not too dangerous for his friends,” Bellatrix said. “A blood traitor and a mudblood who know all about the undesirable number one’s location.”

“I could tell you that.” Draco leant against the table. Not looking at the two of them.

“You could.” She tilted her head to the side and her curls slid from her neck. “But I don’t know if I would believe you. You were _so_ in love with Potter, after all.” Bellatrix smiled, her eyes sparking. “Why don’t you prove who’s side you’re on?”

For half a second there was silence, as her meaning slotted into place. Harry’s insides were replaced by ice cubes. No. She expected Draco to –

“You want me to question them.” Draco’s voice was monotone.

She looked like a wolf faced with a pack of lambs. It was not, Harry thought, anything to do with Draco’s loyalty. Rather, the drama of it all. The sharp gasp that Hermione had pulled through her teeth.

Bellatrix’s voice was soft. Urging. “I need proof you’ve changed.”

Draco stared at her for a moment. Then pulled out his wand. His flexed pale fingers around it, as though he had not held it before.

Harry’s heart was in his throat. Surely not – surely Draco wouldn’t think of that. Couldn’t interrogate his friends – not in the way that Bellatrix was expecting. Not even when they had not been friends. He stepped forward before he could think about it, “no – Draco.”

He caught his hand before it grabbed Draco’s arm. It hovered in the air, just short.

After so long, he felt like he _knew_ him – could read his expressions and mannerisms and _knew_ what Draco was thinking. But now his face was a mask. Harry knew that he wouldn’t do this – knew it – had to know it.

His eyes softened. In something like pity.

“It’s alright, Nott.” He stepped away, to Ron and Hermione, and Bellatrix stepped behind him, her hands on his shoulders. She guided him, like he was a puppet, until he was in front of the two of them. They both glared at him – and that might have been part of the ploy – but Ron’s jaw was gritted too tightly for that, and Hermione was shaking.

After all of their snide comments, Draco was in the position to get back at them.

“You’re the perfect person to do it, because you’ll know for certain if they’re lying,” Bellatrix said.

It was cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

This couldn’t be happening. Harry’s mind couldn’t comprehend it. That Draco was going to torture Ron or Hermione. That was too far – too much for the charade. This wasn’t like him. Usually, he’d talk his way around it. He would be clever. Twist things.

But he was scared. And people were unpredictable when they were scared.

Harry glanced back at the cabinet. At the golden cup. He needed to get hold of that, save Luna and stop whatever was about to happen.

Draco’s wand was pointed at Hermione. It didn’t waver. She was glaring back at him, but her face was pale underneath the dirt and dust.

Bellatrix’s pale fingers pressed into Draco’s shoulders. “Well? Tell us where Potter is.”

Harry had to move. He had to stop this. But he felt trapped. Couldn’t get his legs to move. Couldn’t risk giving his cover up.

Light shot out of Draco’s wand.

Hermione screamed.

Ron bellowed.

The lights went out.

They were left in darkness, the scream echoing. It seemed to go on for an eternity. Harry’s heart pounded. No. He didn’t.

That couldn’t happen.

The Death Eaters lit their wands. Harry’s was in his hand, by his side.

The lights disappeared, as quickly as they had come. There was shouting now. The sound of people stumbling in the dark. Harry had only gotten a glimpse of the room, but started forward blindly.

He collided with someone. Stumbled away.

Again, the Death Eaters, Bellatrix too, lit their wands, and again the lights went out. He’d seen enough to duck out from the man’s arm, heading to where Ron and Hermione were.

It was chaos.

“Enough of this!” Bellatrix screeched.

A burst of orange light burst through the black and a wave of heat hit Harry. He stumbled backwards, blinded, bumping into the wall. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When it did, his heart stopped.

The table was on fire.

The silhouette that was Lucius Malfoy was pressed against the wall. On the other side, Draco backed away from it, eyes wild.

Ron, though, leapt forward – had hold of Bellatrix’s wrists – wrestled with her. Close to the flames.

Hermione was gone.

Harry swivelled, raising just the tip of his wand – he had to do something – whispered, “expelliarmus.”

Ron and Hermione’s wands flew towards him. He caught them. Rat Mouth wasn’t even looking.

But Pettigrew was. Harry saw the silver hand twitch out of the corner of his eye. He remembered what Lupin said – that it couldn’t be Harry’s signature spell. But, he wanted to tell Lupin – he only needed the wands.

Bellatrix was screeching – pushed Ron forward. He bellowed, “This is for Dad!” as he shoved against her, with more strength than Harry had even seen.

Her hair fell from her shoulder and swung into the smoke. She was laughing. There were sparks at the bottom of her curls.

One of the Death Eaters shot at him and Harry cast protego on instinct.

A hand grabbed his wrist. The shield wavered. It was Pettigrew. His face was close to Harry’s – eyes glittering like beetles.

“ _Potter!”_

“No,” he gasped, trying to pull away. When it didn’t work, he lashed out with his fist. His wand hand. It shot sparks and Pettigrew cried as he fell back.

Someone else grabbed his elbow, and he readied himself again, but it was Draco. Tugging him back. The fire had caught to the chairs now, cracking and sparking. He wanted to scream at him – to ask how he could possibly _do_ that to Hermione, but his throat was full of smoke.

Bellatrix managed to toss Ron to the ground – her hair still spitting sparks like a dragon – he landed heavily, face still twisted with rage.

“Ron!” He rolled the wand to him.

He was being tugged. To the cupboard. Draco unlocked it, throwing the door open and Harry reached up, fingers grasping the handle of the golden cup.

Pettigrew’s yells that it was Potter were muffled in a screech from behind them – from Bellatrix – and the glass of the other cabinet drawer cracked.

He pulled it down.

“Don’t _touch_ that!” she screamed. “Accio cup!”

It yanked Harry’s arm towards her. He clasped it with both hands, fighting against the spell, but it was dragging him across the floorboards. Draco’s arm was around his waist and how could he – after Hermione?

Ron stood, his hair blazing in the light of the fire.

“Impedamenta!”

She froze, completely. Now that she stopped moving it was clear her hair was alight.

The cup fell limp in Harry’s hands. It was heavier than he expected, and warm. Almost burnt his skin. He pushed Draco’s arm aside, stepped towards Ron, just as there was a loud crack.

One of the chairs fell into his path, blowing flames upwards in a barrier. It sparked out at Harry, like a hissing cat. The fire caught against the wooden floor in a moment – leapt over to the cabinet in the next.

“Aquamenti!” His wand blasted water, but the flames spat at it. Seemed to grow more. “Glacius.”

It fell back slightly, but didn’t make any difference.

“Meet you outside!” Ron bellowed. He was heading to the door, firing blindly at the Death Eaters shooting red jets at him.

Bellatrix was free of the jinx, and she screamed. Her dress had caught fire, the orange snapping up the black lace greedily. She stamped, aiming her wand and shouting for the Death Eaters to help her. They did.

Draco yanked Harry’s arm to the far side of the dining room. He couldn’t fight back, lugging the cup. His last image of the dining room was that it was covered in fire, sprays of water arcing across it.

The next hallway was pitch black, but Draco continued through it like he could see. They walked quickly, and Harry’s scar was prickling. He dug his heels in, even as he knew the fire approached.

“What the fuck?” The words burnt his throat.

Draco turned back. Frowned as though there was nothing wrong.

“Hermione!” Harry snapped. “Fuck – you – fucking –“

Draco shook his head. “Non-verbal. Disillusionment.” He took Harry’s arm again, forced him down the corridor. “She just had the good sense to scream.”

It did not explain where she was now. Harry supposed he should feel relieved, but he had never been able to process it in the first place. Okay. Everything was okay.

He followed Draco. Figured that he always would.

“Luna,” Harry said. Out of breath.

“We’ll get there,” Draco replied.

“Don’t.”

It was a cold voice. A light illuminated the hallway. They turned. Lucius Malfoy stood in the corridor. But his hair was lank over his shoulders and he stooped like he was ten years older.

“How are you going to stop us?” Draco asked. He’d realised the same thing Harry had. “You have no wand. Not anymore.”

“Whose fault is that?” Lucius snapped. His voice was low – furious. “You chose to go with Potter. Chose to disgrace me. Left me. You left. Put _her_ up to going too.”

“I couldn’t keep pretending,” Draco said. He didn’t move when Lucius stepped closer. The smell of smoke was thick now, spilling into the hallway.

"I did what I had to in order to take care of you. It was right to serve the Dark Lord, but it was also safe. So much safer than taking a stand. You understand that - your parents weren't in St Mungos, or in a graveyard. They were looking after you. Giving you everything that you needed. And wanted.” A new broom. A place on the Quidditch team. Tickets to the World Cup. Was that the last thing before –? “You could come back, now. Everything will be like it was." He had continued moving forward as he spoke, his voice raspy. They were just a step away from each other - Lucius' looked fragile. Like he was about to break. "I was always there for you, Draco."

"You were." Draco's own voice was raw. He clutched at his arm and took a shaking breath. "Until the one day you weren't."

Lucius looked down. Draco's hand was over the bite mark.

"What could I have done?"

The smoke was coming through, thicker now. Harry could hear more yells from the dining room. More fire crackling. The cup twinges in his hand.

Draco's lip curled.

"They would not have stopped at me,” Lucius said.

"It wouldn't have been for them." Draco let that sit in the smoke.

Then nodded to Harry, and continued back where they were headed. He followed, leaving Lucius behind. He was staring, brows furrowed but resigned all the same. They turned into a room, crossed it and went through the glass door into a courtyard. The windows that saw into the dining room were bright orange.

As they crossed, two shattered, raining glass over the cobblestones and releasing more smoke into the air.

"Draco," Harry said. "I assume you know your house is on fire?"

"Its Bellatrix's now," Draco replied.

They could hear shouting from inside the house. She must have broken free of the spell. "Smoke them out! Find that cup or we'll be dead by dawn!"

Another window burst from the top floor. Harry didn’t know if it was a new spell or the fire spreading. But he quickened his step.

Draco led him through a collection of rooms and corridors until they turned a corner to find Hermione stood in front of a door.

Harry blinked at her.

"There you are," she cried. "Where's Ron?"

"He said meet outside."

They were acting as though Draco had not made her scream in pain just ten minutes ago.

"I have your wand." Harry held it put, because he didn't know what else to say.

"Perfect - thank you." She took it.

"It's a special lo –“

Draco didn't get to finish before Hermione had reductoed the lock into a splinter of silver. The door swung open.

"We found it easily enough," Hermione said. "And we slipped the invisibility cloak through, but they heard that. That's when they caught us."

"Hermione?" The familiar voice of Luna Lovegood came from the cellar.

"Luna." Draco pushed past them, lighting his wand as he headed down.

The cellar was surprisingly warm, stocked well with wine still. It was a long, thin room.

A strange collection of people stood there.

Luna, Mr Ollivander, Dean Thomas and a goblin - Harry guessed this was the Griphook mentioned on Potterwatch.

“Draco.” Luna hugged him. She looked unharmed, though her pale hair resembled a bird’s nest and there were dark rings under her eyes.

“The house is on fire,” Harry said. “We have to go.”

“Nott?” Dean Thomas asked. “Aren’t you meant to be out of the country?”

Harry had forgotten his appearance, and didn’t want to waste time discussing it.

“I’m Harry,” he said, and turned to go. But there was a tug on the cup’s handle.

It was Griphook. His dark eyes examined the cup and he ran his fingers over the badger engraving.

“You shouldn’t have this,” he said. “Its goblin made. Not for humans.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that it wasn’t the time for that, either, but the metal suddenly turned from hot to scalding. Griphook pulled his hand away, and Harry fumbled with it. He caught it in the hook of his arm, holding it against his chest, though it still burnt.

“It has been corrupted,” Griphook hissed, pulling away from it.

“Yes. It has,” Harry said. “But we can fix it – we have to go back to our car, but we can fix it, and then you can have it. Do whatever. We have to get out first.”

“Let me carry it.” Griphook reached for it.

Harry stepped back – the heat had faded now. His gut clenched. He didn’t want to give this away. Wanted to keep it. Had to keep it to himself.

“No,” he snapped.

Everyone paused. The word seemed to echo around them.

The feeling passed.

“Let’s go,” Draco said. He gave Harry a sideways glance, but didn’t say anything more.

They did, Luna wrapping the invisibility cloak around her so that she became a floating head. Dean helped to support Ollivander, who looked so fragile it was a wonder he could stand. Griphook stuck close to Harry, eying the gold wrapped in his shirt.

There was more smoke in the hallway. Flames licked at the doors from the dining room, cracking the wooden beams holding up the ceiling.

Draco led the way, his wand raised. They could hear Bellatrix, but her voice was distant, still shrieking spells.

“Corrupted?” Hermione asked Harry, taking Ollivander’s other arm. “Do you mean it’s –“

Harry nodded. “We think so.”

“And we’ll be stealing from Aunt Bella if it’s not,” Draco said. “Win-win.”

Hermione actually smiled at him, which was particularly baffling.

“And you’re okay with –“ He gestured between them.

Hermione looked at him, confused for a moment. Then she laughed.

“Honestly, Harry, you need to pay attention in History of Magic.” That explained nothing. He continued to stare blankly until Hermione rolled her eyes. “Draco didn’t hurt me at all.” She paused, her voice low. “I don’t think he could. Not like that.”

Harry still felt completely lost. “What does that have to do with History of Magic?”

Hermione sighed and it made Draco smirk.

“Witches burnt at the trial cast a charm on the flames to make them harmless,” she explained. “They _pretended_ to be killed.”

He wasn’t sure he liked the two of them being in sync. But at least, underneath all the cattiness, they cared. How many times would Draco have to prove which side he was on?

Something thudded on the door they were passing. Insistently. Everyone hurried onwards, but Harry heard a voice that made him pause.

“Potter! Please!”

Pettigrew.

Harry stopped.

“Your father – wouldn’t want me to die.”

He stepped forward. There was smoke coming from under the door, and he could hear the rush of flames from beyond it.

Pettigrew had betrayed his parents. He ran when they could have cleared Sirius’ name. He was responsible for bringing Voldemort back. Responsible for so many deaths – for all of Harry’s heartache.

He wasn’t sure if James Potter had been entirely good. If he had bullied Snape and taken it too far, or if he really did dish out as much as he was given. Certainly didn’t think his father was like the statue in Godric’s Hollow. But he did fight for what was right. Before he died, he was a good man.

And he wouldn’t let Pettigrew die in such a cruel way.

Harry covered his hand with his sleeve and pulled the door open.

He was immediately assaulted by a wave of heat. The flames blinded him – smoke choked him – and in the next moment someone had tackled him. He croaked as he fell, hitting his head heavily on the wooden flooring and feeling the cup roll out of his grip.

It was Pettigrew. One hand – the silver one, because it was cold and stronger than it should be – around Harry’s parched neck, the other rolling up his sleeve.

“I know it was you,” Pettigrew rasped. Harry struggled underneath him, still unable to catch his breath, hit heart thudding behind his eyes as he saw that Pettigrew was about to press his forefinger against the Dark Mark on his forearm. “And the Dark Lord will be so pleased –”

There was shouting, but it sounded far away.

Harry managed to wheeze a breath.

“James would be disappointed.” It was what he hoped what cut Pettigrew to the core. And it did make him pause. The hand around his neck loosened its grip. “That you’d want to kill me twice.”

“No,” Pettigrew said. “I didn’t – I didn’t want to –”

“But you did.” Harry managed to prise the silver hand off him by an inch. “When you betrayed me, you killed him. And Lily. And you would have killed me too.”

Pettigrew’s finger shook as it fell away from his dark mark. The silver hand moved another inch.

“No.” Pettigrew shook his head, hair sticking to his cheeks, repeating the word over and over with rolling eyes.

The silver hand shot like a serpent, and Harry closed his eyes – waiting for the pressure to return.

But he heard choking sounds instead. He opened his eyes to find the silver hand around Pettigrew’s throat. It clutched him in a death grip, his eyes popping as he struggled to breathe. He fell from Harry, trying to yank the hand free – gurgling – but it stayed stubbornly clutched to him like a limpet.

Pettigrew collapsed, still struggling.

Dying, Harry realised.

His wand was on the floor, still lit, and he snatched it up, knowing he had to help.

“ _Harry_!” Draco caught his waist, pulled him back.

“Wait –” He fought against him.

The ceiling fell through. The beam first, landing heavily – pinning Pettigrew underneath it – then the plaster with it.

Draco had pulled Harry away moments before he had been crushed.

“Please,” Draco whispered.

Harry’s chest burnt.

Please don’t die.

He let himself be tugged to safety, following Draco and the others, coughing.

They came to a side door, and Hermione blasted that lock open too. It swung forward, letting in a burst of cool air. He paused in the doorway.

“The cup.”

“I have it,” Draco said.

There was another twinge of that feeling – of wanting that cup for himself. Having to have that cup. But they had to get out. Back to the car. Destroy it.

Only, there was a duel in the courtyard. Spells lit the night, illuminating the two figures.

Ron. With the silver shield of protego in front of him.

Against Bellatrix. Half of her dress – half of her hair – was gone and the skin it had left behind was red and raw.

“He’ll kill us all,” she screeched. “You foolish brats!”

Ron couldn’t reply. He was breathless – sending out more spells. They exploded into sparks as they met each other’s.

“There they are!”

It was the two Death Eaters, raising their wands. Harry shot out a stupefy and one collapsed to the floor – Draco hit the other.

Bellatrix turned, eyes wild.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” Ron bellowed.

She turned as still as a statue. Then fell onto the grass.

“ _Ron_!” Hermione called.

He sprinted towards them.

Fire came from the windows, spreading to the outside of the manor.

“Your house,” Harry said.

Draco shook his head. But his eyes were damp.

“We have to go,” Hermione said. Ron glanced behind him. “Ron – _please_.”

It was the same kind of please Draco used. And it made Ron turn back, and nod.

So they left Malfoy Manor behind, heading back over the fields.

Even when they were a safe distance from the house, Harry was sure that he could feel the heat on his back.

*

There was a lot to talk about, but everyone was silent. They sat where they had left the car as Ron pitched the tent back up.

British weather saved Malfoy Manor. As the flames continued to infest it, rain started to fall. Fat, heavy drops that turned into a downpour in moments. Everyone took refuge in the tent – apart from Harry and Draco.

Harry wasn’t sure what he could say. He slipped his fingers into Draco’s and squeezed them but received no response.

The rain combatted the fire, beating it back. The orange flicking out of the windows subsided, turning to grey smoke that mingled with the night sky.

Harry was drenched. His hair stuck to his cheeks and neck, water ran down his back and his shoes were waterlogged. He wiped rainwater out of his eyes with the heel of his hand and that was when he realised why everything was so blurry. The Polyjuice potion had worn off.

“I need to get my glasses,” he said. It wasn’t the sentimental, comforting phrase he should have said.

Draco finally turned away from the house. Even though they were stood so close, he was still slightly blurry around the edges. His hair hung in front of his face, ghostly in the dark. His cheeks were damp, but so were Harry’s. His nose could easily be pink from the cold.

“They’re in the car.” Draco’s voice was quiet.

Harry fetched them from the back-seat pocket, wiping them on his t-shirt before he put them on. He stayed sat in the car, and Draco climbed in next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Draco was quiet for a moment. “What did I expect would happen if I let Harry Potter into my house?”

There was something missing from his sarcasm, and his voice sounded raw.

Harry shuffled other, hands searching for Draco’s shoulders in the dark and pulling him close. Resting his head on his shoulder.

“Not just – about that,” he murmured.

Draco’s hands tightened on Harry’s damp shirt. He sighed.

“He was about as I expected.” His thumb rubbed Harry’s back. “He doesn’t – know how to cope with things that don’t fit into our image.”

“That doesn’t excuse –”

“He was never going to welcome me back with open arms.”

It wasn’t the moment, but Harry realised how fortunate he’d been that Sirius hadn’t minded. That he’d accepted all of Harry without a second thought.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“He wasn’t my father from the day I was bitten.” There was steel in Draco’s voice.

“That doesn’t mean you stop caring.”

Draco didn’t reply. He held Harry tighter, chin digging into his shoulder. There was still smoke around Malfoy Manor – he could see from the window.

They stayed still. Harry still searched for the right thing to say, but after a while, he realised there was nothing. That he could only be there and let Draco sort through things by himself. He always seemed to.

He didn’t know if he started to drift off into troubled dreams, but he was picking himself off the side of the seat when Hermione knocked on the window. He rolled it down. Draco pulled away, ducking his chin.

“You’ve been in there twenty minutes,” she said. But then the sternness melted away, and her voice grew gentle. “Is everything alright?”

Harry glanced at Draco, but he didn’t look up.

“I can come.”

“Griphook’s desperate to get hold of that cup. We should destroy it as soon as we can.”

“Sure.” Harry ran his hand over Draco’s thigh to get his attention. “Babe, do you have the cup?”

“Under the chair.”

Draco reached for it at the same time Harry did. It was still warm – their fingers curled around either handle. Harry pulled it. Draco didn’t let go. They both struggled with it.

“Babe,” Harry repeated. He looked up, frowning.

Draco let go, blinking as though he was confused.

So he felt the same strange feeling Harry did over it. He took a breath, “do you want to come?”

Draco looked at the gold for a moment more, then shook his head. “You go.”

He had opened the handle – had a leg out of the car – before he turned back, pressing his mouth against Draco’s temple.

“Love you,” he murmured.

“You too, trouble.”

Which made him suspect Draco would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): This was a BIG chapter. But I don't have a lot to say.
> 
> So, as always - thank you all so so much for the support! If I don't reply to comments it's because I can only say 'thank you!!!' and don't want to bother you with the notification. (If I don't hit like it'll be because I've read it when I've woken up in the night and then fallen back asleep again..) It is the reason I keep writing.
> 
> I hope this chapter was exciting and I'll update again next week <3 xx


	18. 18

18

Luna hugged Harry when he came into the tent. Dean did too. Mr Ollivander nodded at him from one of the beds, looking haggard and exhausted.

“It’s good to see that you’re safe and sound, Mr Potter,” he said. Even his voice sounded tired.

“You too,” Harry said. “We thought –“ He didn’t finish the sentence. Chose instead to change the subject. “We think you-know-who is looking for a new wand. A certain wand.”

Ollivander blinked at him, as though he couldn’t quite understand all the words.

“How do you figure?” Dean asked. He sat on the cushions, one hand pressed a cloth against a wound on his temple.

Harry omitted his connection with Voldemort. Chose instead to say that Potterwatch told them Voldemort was out of the country, that they’d heard a rumour he was after Gregorovitch – that his attack on Bathilda Bagshot could be connected to Grindlewald, and that Grindlewald was connected to the symbol the saw everywhere – from the Tale of Three Brothers –

“The elder wand,” Luna finished.

Harry stared at her.

She lowered herself next to Dean, taking the remaining radish out of her ear.

“That’s what it’s called,” she said, as Harry sat in front of the doorway. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, sat on the other bunkbed. “Didn’t you know? It’s the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak – oh, this is yours, by the way.”

She handed Harry his back, and he thanked her.

“But that’s just a children’s story,” Dean said. “None of those things are real.”

“They can’t be,” Hermione added. “No stone can bring back the dead.”

“I don’t think you can say that unless you’ve turned every stone over three times to check,” Luna replied.

“No one’s going to do that.”

“Then no one can say for sure that it doesn’t exist.”

Hermione’s face was red. She looked ready to burst like a balloon.

When a voice demanded, “the cup!”

It was Griphook, at the doorway – and Harry had quite forgotten he’d been with the group. He held out his small hand expectantly.

“Wait.” Harry held it out of reach. “We have to fix it first.”

Griphook snorted. “Fix it? _You_ can’t fix something like that.”

“ _We_ can, actually.” Ron puffed out his chest. “Basilisk venom. One of the only known substances to destroy horcruxes.”

“And there was a basilisk at Hogwarts,” Luna said.

“Of course, _goblin_ steel absorbs that which makes it stronger, and as Harry killed the Basilisk with it when he was _twelve_.” Hermione looked pointedly at Griphook. “It would have the power to destroy it too. Unfortunately, the sword is missing.”

Harry doubted the goblin would hand over the sword, even if he did have it. It was, after all, not theirs.

“It’s not’s missing,” Griphook sneered. “It’s in the Lestrange vault.”

They all exchanged glances.

“Snape,” Harry said. “He must have given it to her to keep it safe.”

“The _cup_.” Griphook made a grab for it. Without really thinking, Harry tossed it in Ron’s direction, just to get it away. It was caught easily.

“Alright, alright,” Ron said. “But, you know, a bit to eat and a kip would be to die for right now.”

There was rain already beating down the roof of the tent, but now it sounded like hail. Harry frowned, because it sounded like –

It was the cup. Rapidly filling with roast potatoes. Within seconds, they overflowed the brim, spilling onto the floor. Ron placed it on the table, eyes wide.

“Hufflepuff –” Hermione pointed to the crest. “This must have been Helga Hufflepuff’s goblet! It says in _Hogwarts: A History_ that this helped transport all the food to the Great Hall.”

“Never mind it’s history.” Ron waved her off. “Let’s get our orders in.”

“Is it safe, do you think?” Hermione asked. “Considering the goblet is –”

Harry poked one of the potatoes with his wand. It didn’t do anything but make his mouth water. It was golden brown and crispy on the outside, rolled in rosemary. If it was anything like the roasts at Hogwarts, the inside would be fluffy and soft. Maybe it was evil, but he would happily eat an evil potato, if it filled his stomach.

Griphook was glaring.

“Dinner first,” Harry said. “We’re exhausted. Destroying it in this state is dangerous.” Still, Griphook scowled, though it was true, so Harry added, “I give you my word.”

“As a wizard?” Griphook asked. “As the chosen one?”

“As the person who saved you from Death Eaters,” Harry snapped. He helped himself to a potato – they were hot – and it seemed to silence the goblin.

They ate – turkey and chicken with buttered peas and carrots, broccoli and cauliflower in cheese sauce. Everything tasted fantastic. Perfect. It reminded Harry of Sundays at Hogwarts – of Christmas and Easter dinners. Happier times, sat with Ron and Hermione. There had been danger too, but that had been exciting. They had always been safe, relatively, at school.

He saved a plate for Draco, taking it out to him. But he stayed slumped against the far window, unmoving. Harry suspected he was asleep. At the very least, he did not want to be disturbed.

When he returned, he found Dean and Luna sat outside the tent. Inside, Ollivander and Griphook asleep.

"We can't give it back," Ron whispered. "It's brilliant - we'd never have to worry about food."

"I promised," Harry said.

"We have to destroy it," Hermione said. "Look what it does to people."

Ron stared at her. “Gives them what they need?” He picked up the cup. “Look - I wish for new shoes.”

Impossibly, the shoe of a trainer appeared from the bottom of the cup, squeezing its way out until a whole shoe plopped onto the floor. A second followed.

“See?” Ron grinned, holding one up by the laces. It was brand new.

Harry ached for it. His own shoes were held together with little more than a wish.

“Let me try,” he said.

“In a minute.” Ron shook the cup, thinking. “What about socks as well?”

They came up, perfectly rolled into each other. So clean that they almost glowed.

Hermione glowered. “Ronald.”

“It’s bloody brilliant!” As he spoke, Hermione leant across the bed, grabbing one of the handles and trying to snatch it. “Get off it, Hermione! It’s mine!”

Harry knelt up, ready to reach for it. _“I_ found it!”

“And dropped it.”

A stab of anger went through Harry. “That wouldn't have mattered if _you_ didn’t get caught.”

Ron cheeks were crimson. “That's not fair!”

They had been so involved in snapping at each other, that they’d forgotten about the cup. Hermione snatched it, hopping over the table and holding it as high as she could.

“See what it does?! It makes you both into greedy monsters!” She hissed. “No, we're destroying it. Tonight.”

Harry knew they should. But he also felt reluctant to be the one who did. There was so much they needed – basic things like food and money – and this cup could solve that. It would be the easy end to so many of their worries.

Ron looked less than willing too.

“Can’t we rest first?” He asked. “We rested before the last one.”

“The locket was bad enough.” Hermione shook her head. But her voice grow soft. “I don’t want to see this make you someone you're not.”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other for a moment. Like they didn’t see Harry, or anyone else. It was a tender glance, and he felt like an intruder.

Unfortunately, Ron’s attention wandered back to the cup. His fingers flexed, like they missed holding it.

“Things would be so much easier with it,” he said, and there was an ache in his voice Harry could understand. Not cooking – not having to open a tin before cooking – had been so glorious. Hot, well-cooked food was so difficult to get now.

“But I promised Griphook,” Harry said.

Ron didn’t move. “So?”

“So we have to,” Hermione repeated. “Let's do it together. It’ll be easier that way.”

Harry got to his feet, slowly. He accio-ed the basilisk fangs from Hermione’s bag in the corner, bundling them in his shirt. He couldn’t tell if it was the horcrux affecting him, but he really just wanted to sleep. For a whole day, if he could. Now the adrenaline was gone, his belly was full and he was exhausted.

Hermione looked tired too, as she took a fang in her hand.

“I get to hold it,” Ron said, as he stood, fixated on the cup.

Hermione’s mouth twisted. “Fine.”

He snatched it from her, holding it against his chest as though it was a small child. They stepped out of the tent, and into the cold night air. Dean and Luna passed them, heading into the tent and looking as bone-tired as Harry felt.

“Shouldn’t we get away from Malfoy Manor, as well?” Ron whispered. “I mean – there are _Death Eaters_ down there.”

“I know, but –”Hermione ran her hand through her frazzled hair. “We can’t all fit in the car, and no one’s in the right shape for it. I’ve cast every protective enchantment I know, and –”

“They might have to find somewhere new, anyway,” Harry said. She was right. They were in no state to travel like this. Certainly not Draco.

Ron huffed.

They sat a safe distance away from the tent, in a circle around the cup, each equipped with a basilisk fang. It seemed as though they all took a deep breath at the same time, raising them.

But there was something sparkling at the bottom of the cup. It was conjuring, though none of them had asked for anything.

They froze.

“We should just –” Hermione went to stab the fang down.

Ron caught her wrist. Without looking. His mouth moved as he looked down at the cup, as though he was talking to it. He’d dropped his fang to pick up what it had made.

It was a badge. When he turned it over, Harry saw that it was a ‘head boy’ one.

“Do you think I would have had a chance?” Ron asked. “I mean – none of us thought I’d be prefect.”

“That’s not –”

Ron did not listen to her. He had spotted another glimmer in the cup, and fished that one out too. This one was Harry’s quidditch captain badge. He blinked. Quidditch. He missed playing Quidditch – missed flying and the adrenaline of a match. Even missed training sessions in the rain and the mud, if it meant a hot shower and a hot chocolate in the Gryffindor Common Room. Would mean a day of his muscles aching, but made him feel _good_.

“Well, you can’t be Head Boy _and_ Quidditch Captain,” Hermione said. “That’s against the rules.”

That sparked something he’d forgotten. Stood in front of the mirror of Erised with Ron. Both of them in pyjamas. He’d said the same thing then.

“Well –” Ron never finished his thought, because the goblet was rapidly filling with great, golden galleons. In a moment, they were spilling over to the grass.

Ron laughed, and Harry felt the urge too as well. Money. As much as they needed. As much as they could ever want.

But Dumbledore’s words stuck in his mind. _It does not do to dwell on dreams_. Did he see Grindlewald in that mirror? The boy he loved and had to fight? Did he see what the world would have been like if he hadn’t? How long had he spent longing for things to go back to the way that they were?

And it wouldn’t change anything. Only torment him with phantoms from the past. For Ron, the phantoms of the future.

Harry raised the basilisk fang. They had to destroy it.

The cup had stopped spouting money now. Instead, a mirage showed on the inside of the cup. Ron, Harry recognised – but a Ron that was taller, broader – whose hair sat better and wasn’t such a bright ginger. A Ron who was fighting many duels at once – and winning.

A Ron in Harry’s place.

It made it look fun. Instead of stressful and full of nightmares. Knowing that every death was because of him.

"Ron-" he started, but was shushed.

The images continued. Hermione came into view. Harry had expected tamed hair and make-up. Had expected a different figure. But she was exactly as she was in reality.

Well, she was smiling sappily at Ron, her hands on his shoulders. That didn't usually happen.

The real Hermione looked away, her cheeks bright pink. Ron hadn't noticed. He was too entranced with the hero version of himself, lips pressed against Hermione's as he stood, the victor of the war.

"It can't really give you that," Harry said, as gently as he could. Trying to get Ron to see that the illusions were – that they weren’t so far off reality.

Ron's ears went red. "Shut up."

"It’s true. It can’t make you him.” Hermione pointed to the images in the cup. “And it can’t make you win the war.”

“How do you know?” Ron demanded. “Maybe it can. Maybe it sees the future.”

“It’s showing what you want to see. That’s all,” Harry said.

Ron shook his head. “No, it’s –”

“The only way we can win is if we destroy it.” Hermione raised her fang again.

And again, Ron clutched her wrist. “Maybe it's on our side.”

“It’s not!”

“You just duelled Bellatrix and won,” Harry said. “ _That’s_ better than him, isn’t it?”

Ron frowned as he looked back down at the mirage. “Because you all distracted her.”

“Mate – you’re already a great wizard.” Harry hoped Ron could tell how much he meant it. He smiled.

“I’m no you,” Ron said. It sounded as though there was a lump in his throat.

“No – and thank fuck.” Harry took his shoulder. “Do you need me to list all of the times you’ve saved us? Not me. Not Hermione. You. We’d have been killed in first year if you weren’t so good at Wizards Chess.”

“I can hardly make a career out of that, can I?” Ron tried to shrug Harry’s hand off, but he stayed firm. “And for every time I’ve helped, I’ve almost killed you. Remember Scabbers?”

“You weren’t to know,” Hermione said.

“And how many times have I almost killed you?” Harry asked.

Ron thought about it. And smiled. Harry did too, bumping their foreheads together.

“None of this.” He gestured to the badges and gold on the floor. “Are why you’re my best friend.”

They looked at each other. Seven years, Harry thought. Seven years and they’d almost always been friends. Family. And he hoped that Ron knew how much that meant to him.

“Yeah,” Ron murmured. “I know.”

But Harry couldn’t resist adding, “Besides, I'm sure Hermione will kiss you once you destroy it.”

“What?” Hermione’s face was as red as Ron’s. She stared at Harry, aghast.

Ron stared at the grass. “Don’t.”

“No –“ Hermione put a hand on his arm. “I will.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Hermione squeezed his forearm, starting to smile. “I'd kiss - you. Not - him.”

She stared up at him, in much the same way as the Hermione in the cup had. It was as though Harry was not sat there. They took each other in, their faces close. Covered in dust and scrapes, but close.

Harry smiled. He was happy at the idea, now that he thought about it. Ron might have been the only person that could stand so much of Hermione, and Hermione could be the only one to stand so much of Ron. It was that – the fact that they both annoyed each other, but enjoyed that, which made them perfect.

Ron frowned, slightly. “But you and –”

Hermione shook her head, and Ron grinned. They practically covered in a pink glow – somehow just realising that they were on the same page. Had been for a while now.

Harry rolled his eyes – though he was hardly one to talk. “Just destroy it.”

“Oh – right, yeah.” Ron nodded. Fumbled in the grass for his fang. He gripped it with a shaking hand, still bright crimson. The cups images were more exaggerated now. Made Ron into a superhero with riches around him and girls falling at his feet.

He smashed the fang down and into the cup.

There was a clang - that seemed palpable - seemed to knock them backwards.

Harry's scar exploded with pain. He lay, head in the grass, watching with mostly closed eyes as Hermione all but three herself onto Ron. His face disappeared in her hair, his arms around her neck.

And Harry was happy - very happy for his friends and yet he was sure that he was dying. What would be a polite way of breaking up his two best friends' first kiss?

Fury filled him. Not his own. Voldemort's. This had made him full of white hot rage.

Harry closed his eyes. Focused on taking deep breaths as Ron and Hermione noticed he was on the ground and cried out to him. Remembered Narcissa's occlumency lessons and decided to put them to good use.

They shook his shoulders, and he apologised for ruining the moment. Still concentrated on pushing that presence out of his mind. It was a slow, gruelling process, but eventually – eventually the anger was replaced with satisfaction. One more horcrux destroyed.

Maybe they could do this after all.

*

The cup had a crack at its deepest point that spread out over the gold like a spider’s web.

Griphook was less than happy.

"The thing was evil," Ron said, at his frown. "We're the ones who almost died destroying it."

 _"Wizards,"_ Griphook sneered. "Shouldn't be given anything."

Nevertheless, he clung to the cup and smiled at it when he thought no one else was looking. Considering the amount of places and objects they had destroyed, Harry was inclined to agree with him.

They had barely slept, and he felt dead on his feet. But they couldn’t stay so close to Malfoy Manor. Not now it was light.

And yet – the charm Mr Weasley had cast on the car to allow it to fit as many people as it needed had worn off. There was such a muddle of charms on it to start with that Hermione was hesitant to try again.

Dean and Mr Ollivander decided to travel on foot with Griphook. It was risky, but they assured them that they were well-used to hiding their presence and moving quickly.

“Besides,” Dean said. “Being with you is the most dangerous place to be, Harry.”

Which he couldn’t argue with.

That left Luna, who they were going to drop at her house, as long as it was safe.

Harry said his goodbyes, receiving a hearty handshake from Mr Ollivander and a hug from Dean. (Griphook just sniffed at him.) Whilst they packed up the tent, he slipped away to the car.

Draco was dozing, head against the window. The watery sunlight made his hair look white-gold, but also showed the circles under his eyes. He opened them, as Harry sat, grey eyes almost blue.

“Hey, trouble,” Harry murmured.

Draco’s voice was hardly audible. “That’s you.” 

Harry reached for his hand. Draco moved before he could take it, fingers tracing down Harry’s cheek – down to his jaw.

“He’s alive,” Draco continued. “I saw them leaving a few hours ago – Bellatrix and my father.”

“Oh.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether that was good news or not. He let Draco’s thumb rub over his mouth, before he took it with his own, kissing Draco’s knuckles.

“It’s repairable – the damage – it would take a long time, but –”

“We’ll come back,” Harry said. Using his mouth to uncurl Draco’s fingers and kiss his palm. It made Draco smile. Just slightly. He cupped Harry’s cheeks, nestling in his hair. He was sure that it looked like a bird’s nest. “You’ll inherit it. We’ll fix it up – make it less gloomy –”

“It’s not _gloomy._ It’s classy.”

“And you can throw as many cocktail parties and balls as you want.” Harry kissed Draco’s wrist. Ran his teeth over it and heard Draco’s breath catch. “I’ll permanently wear dress robes.”

“That would be a definite improvement,” Draco purred. He leant forward and kissed Harry.

He melted into it, the familiar feeling of Draco’s lips – of his tongue against Harry’s – relieving the stress and the fear of the last twenty-four hours. Draco’s hand was cold as it slipped up the back of Harry’s shirt.

“I’m glad you look like you again,” Draco murmured.

Harry felt his cheeks warm, but his heart fluttered. No matter how many times it was confirmed, the fact that Draco found him attractive, made him feel like he was floating. He paid him back by peppering kisses down the side of Draco’s neck, feeling his breath catch when he did.

The front doors of the car opened, and Harry heard Hermione and Ron clambering in, bickering about something as though nothing had changed. He was ready to ignore them, when the back opened too and he heard Luna ask, “Would you mind moving over, Harry?”

Draco chuckled as he pulled away, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist to shift him properly into the middle seat.

“Sure,” Draco said. “Welcome back, Luna.”

“It was very good of you to come and get me,” she said, as she did her seatbelt up. “I was only kidnapped for a few hours. Not nearly enough time to be scared.”

“Well –we try,” Ron said from the front. He stretched dramatically, grinning at Harry in the rearview mirror. He had a feeling that he’d swollen Ron’s head with his words.

“Yes – you’re wonderful.” Hermione was still mostly sarcastic. She kissed Ron’s cheek. “Now let’s get moving.”

They drove for forty-five minutes or so, before they re-pitched in a thick wood. They weren’t immediately swarmed with Death Eaters, and Harry fell into a deep sleep. Images of fire, of Pettigrew, Bellatrix and Lucius half-formed in it. Of the cup too – giving him more and more gold until he was drowning in it. It weighed him down, tugging him into heat. Everything muddled together until he wasn’t dreaming at all.

When he woke, it was five in the morning, and Luna was the only other person awake. She smiled and asked if he was hungry, so they shared half a box of cereal in silence, using their hands. They sat at the edge of the tent, watching the sky turn from rose to blue.

Ron appeared, and finished off the rest of the box, but it was six o’clock before Hermione and Draco were up as well. Ron fried Hermione toast over a fire, and they sat closer than they usually did, looking awkwardly away from each other.

Now that he had slept, Harry felt – good. Content. The morning air was cool and crisp, and there was the kind of birdsong in the air that sounded fake. It had rained at some point, leaving behind the smell of damp dirt and dew on the grass that sparkled.

“I’m so sorry, Luna,” Hermione said, as she finished her toast. “I only meant for us to sleep for a few hours and then be on our way again.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Luna replied. “It was interesting to see what came past the tent.”

Harry didn’t want to know.

Hermione didn’t seem to want to either. She blinked, and then continued, “well – we’ll drive you back to your dad’s now. We should make it by lunchtime.”

“And maybe we can have a shower, yeah?” Ron added.

Luna nodded. “I don’t want to speak ill of my saviours, but I think you could do with cleaning up a little.”

Harry knew that. They had made do with a bowl of cold water for their face and hands, but there always seemed to be a layer of dirt on his skin now. And – he ran his hand over his jaw – he would appreciate a shave.

Draco noticed, and kissed Harry’s cheek.

“Great,” Ron said. “And then –”

He looked to Hermione, and she blushed. Their hands just overlapped and now she pulled hers away to tuck hair behind her ear.

“We should continue looking for the other horcruxes,” she said. “That’s what’s most important.”

“If Volde –” Harry saw Ron’s bulging eyes, and stopped short, sighing. “If Tom Riddle did manage to split his soul into seven, like he said he would – then there’s six horcruxes.”

There was a stick in the dirt nearby, and he fetched it.

“So – that’s the diary.” He drew a line in the dirt. “The ring. The locket. The cup.” That was four. “And we know Nagini is another, even if we can’t get to her.” Which made five. “There’s only one other left.”

“Nagini will stay by his side, after what happened in Godric’s Hollow,” Draco said. “He’ll want to keep her safe.”

“Right.” Harry tapped the stick on the ground. “We’ll leave her for the moment. When I have to face off against Riddle, one of you can come up behind him and get her then.”

Ron shrugged. “Simple.”

“But where else would he hide one?” Hermione asked.

They paused. Harry absently drew the triangle mark in the dirt, then scuffed it out.

“Did he go on any other trips as a child?” Ron asked.

“If he’s that into Grindlewald, we could try war memorials?” Draco suggested.

“He fled to Albania, didn’t he?” was Hermione’s guess.

Harry continued frowning at the dirt. He had no idea. If any of that was important to him, then wouldn’t Dumbledore have known? Wouldn’t he have told Harry about all of the clues he had?

If the last month had taught him anything, then no, he wouldn’t. Especially if it had anything to do with Grindlewald.

“Horcruxes?” Luna asked. “That’s what you’re after?”

There was no point keeping it secret. Harry nodded. “Do you know anything about them?”

“I thought they were a myth.” She didn’t seem to see the irony in this. “Something that made dark wizards feel more powerful.”

Ron was sniggering, and Hermione elbowed him, though she wasn’t looking Luna in the eye.

“They’re real,” Draco said, his brow drawn. “We’ve learnt that much.”

“And Helga Hufflepuff’s cup was one of them?” Luna pressed. When they nodded, she thought about that for a moment, ripping the cereal box methodically. “Have any of the other’s been connected to the Hogwarts houses?”

Draco jerked. “The locket. It was Slytherins.”

It had been kept in Draco’s suitcase, at the bottom of Hermione’s bag.

“If the sword of Gryffindor was a horcrux, it would be destroyed already,” Hermione said. “It’s already been exposed to basilisk venom.”

“I don’t suppose Ravenclaw has a mysterious magical artefact?” Ron asked.

“We do, actually.” Luna continued ripping the box into confetti. “Rowena Ravenclaw had a diadem that granted wisdom to the wearer.”

“Where is it?” Harry asked. He couldn’t believe it – couldn’t believe that it would be so simple. His heart leapt.

“Oh, it’s been lost for centuries.”

His heart sunk again. He _shouldn’t_ have believed it.

“But Dad has been studying it,” Luna continued. “So maybe he’s found out something new.”

They exchanged dubious glances at that. If the Quibbler’s articles were anything to go by, Xenophilius Lovegood was not the best at researching.

But it was the only lead they had.

Which was becoming a running theme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Yeah, I thought I'd give the cup something more to it, and say that it was showing its cards quickly because it could sense destruction was imminent. 
> 
> As always - I cannot thank you enough for reading/kudos-sing/commenting etc etc - if I don't reply to comments it's because I can only say 'thank you!!!' and don't want to bother you with the notification. It really does mean the world to me and its the reason I keep writing. Please do leave something below to let me know you're still reading 
> 
> And I'll see you next week xx


	19. 19

19

They flew to Luna’s house. Harry did not know what he was expecting it to be like, yet still found himself surprised. It was a large, black structure that looked like a rook chess piece – if it was leaning to one side.

They landed at the bottom of the hill it was sat on, walking up on foot, wands out, in case there was anyone there. When they reached it, they listened closely, but couldn’t hear any voices.

Luna knocked, whilst the four of them pressed either side of the door. Harry still felt drained, but thought he could still manage a wand fight.

Xenophilius Lovegood opened it. He cried out when he saw her, pulling Luna into a tight embrace and burying his face in her messy hair.

“You’re safe!” he cried. “They said they had you! Because I was on Potter’s side!”

Luna hugged him back. “It was Harry who saved me.”

“Potter?” Xenophilius pulled away. He spotted them, pressed against the wall and his face lit up. “Harry Potter!”

He stared at him in amazement – mouth open in a perfect ‘o’. As though he was something incredible and amazing. His eyes found the spot where Harry’s scar was. His hair, always obscuring it from view, had grown to cover it further. Still, he flattened it down.

“Yeah,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “But we don’t need the whole village knowing.”

“No, no, of course not.” Xenophilius glanced around. “Though – I’m not sure – there were –”

“As long as you don’t tell anyone, no one will know Harry’s here,” Ron said. He still had his wand out and ready, and Harry could not blame him.

“Oh, yes – well – come in, come in.” Xenophilius held the door open for them.

They piled in after Luna. Nerves clawed at Harry’s stomach, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was simply nerves – every time he stood under a proper roof, he almost got killed. It didn’t help there was only one door – and that Xenophilius stood in front of it.

It was a kitchen. Though a kitchen that made Harry feel as though he’d stepped into wonderland. The black, circular walls made him think of pepper grinders. Everything curved with it – the cupboards and oven fitting perfectly. Everything had been decorated – presumably by Luna – in bright butterflies or insects. The legs and wings seemed to wiggle in the corner of his vision.

“This way,” Luna said, starting up the iron staircase that stood in the middle of it all.

Harry exchanged looks with Hermione and Ron, who both had their eyebrows firmly raised. Draco, however, was following Luna, so he felt compelled to do the same.

The second floor was just as manic. Books and papers sat in piles over the sofas and coffee tables – the bookshelves and display cases. One pile sat on a huge, wooden machine that was churning out copies of the _Quibbler_. It sounded like an army of redcaps, stomping and dancing. Strange paper models of creatures Harry was sure were never covered in _Care of Magical_ creatures hung from the ceiling, snapping their jaws.

“Excuse me.” Xenophilius pulled a grubby tablecloth from the floor, sending everything sat on it to tumble to the floor. He threw it over the printing press, though it did little to muffle the noise.

Hermione was staring at the wall in horror. “You realise that’s an erumpent horn?”

Harry turned to where she had pointed. A grey, spiral horn was mounted on the wall, wider than a unicorn’s.

“It’s the horn of a crumble-horned snorkack, actually,” Xenohpilius said. “It was meant to be a surprise – for you, Luna.”

He gestured to it, as a Prince would a carriage, and Luna’s face instantly lit up in a smile. Before she could say anything, however, Hermione continued –

“It’s the horn of an erumpent – you can tell by the marks at the base. Class B tradeable good – and it’s very dangerous to have in a house. It will explode at the slightest touch.”

“I said that it is from a crumble-horned snorkack,” Xenophilius said, frowning at her. “The wizard I brought it from assured me –”

“Well, there’s a way to find out, isn’t there?” Draco smirked, reaching a hand towards it. Hermione cried out, stepping forward. This only made Draco laugh, pulling away. “I knew you cared about me, Granger.”

“I care about not getting myself blown up.”

Yet they were both smirking. Friends. Harry still felt creeped out by that.

“Thank you for bringing Luna back, Mr Potter,” Xenophilius said, over their squabbling. “Though, I don’t think it would be prudent to stay long.”

Harry was at a loss. He wasn’t one for parades and triumphant choruses, but he had expected Mr Lovegood to be a bit more grateful that he had saved his daughter from Death Eaters. Grateful enough to offer a glass of water, at least.

“We won’t be long,” Ron said. “But we would like a shower before we rush off. It could be payment. There’s a lot of people in trouble right now, and the Chosen One can’t save everyone –”

“Ron.” Harry elbowed him, feeling his face burn.

“It’s true,” Ron muttered.

“Daddy, they did almost die saving me,” Luna said. She had finally turned away from the horn; it wasn’t clear who she believed. “And I did tell them they could tidy up here.”

Xenophilius looked put-out by this. Though, after a moment, he nodded, and murmured something about preparing gurdyroot tea.

It wasn’t a glass of water, but Harry supposed it would have to do. There was something hypocritical, he thought, in Xenophilius telling the wizarding world to help him, but being so reluctant to himself, though he didn’t want to discuss that in front of Luna. And he could understand – it was a lot easier to say things than to do them.

As Xenophilius clattered down the staircase, he let his eyes take in more of the details of the room. In particular, he was stared at a bust of a witch with an upturned nose. She seemed to be frowning out at them all.

The headdress she wore was very – Luna. Two small ear trumpets protruded from either side of her head, and a collection of small wings sat in the centre of the strap connecting them. A further strap ran across the forehead – this one sporting an orange radish.

“Luna?” he asked. “What’s that?”

Luna looked at it. She seemed fond of it, running a finger over the edge of one of the ear trumpets.

“It’s Ravenclaw’s diadem,” she said.

They froze. All staring at her in complete disbelief. The lost diadem. Surely it couldn’t be here – just – sat in the Lovegood’s house.

Surely it didn’t look like that.

“Well, it’s Daddy’s recreation of it, at least,” Luna continued. She explained the horns were to keep out wrackspurts – the billywig propeller for enlightenment – the derrigible plum for wisdom.

“But it doesn’t –” Hermione’s mouth twisted as she fought to find the words. “It didn’t look like that?”

“No one quite knows what it did look like,” Luna replied, with a secretive smile. “They think that Rowena Ravenclaw wore it in a few portraits, but can’t be sure.”

Harry looked at the headdress again. He was sure that a founder of Hogwarts would not have worn a plum over her forehead.

Xenophilius Lovegood appeared again with a tray of tea. It was precariously balanced on the edge of a table, and Luna helped serve it. It was the colour of dark beetroot and smelt bitter. Harry stirred several lumps of sugar into his, standing next to Draco at the window, as Luna told her dad what had happened. She had been called to Snape’s office. There had been Death Eaters waiting. They apparated to Malfoy Manor.

“What about Ginny?” Ron asked. He’d sat amongst the papers on the sofa, next to Hermione. “Is she doing okay?”

“Ginny’s – fine.” Luna’s cheeks coloured. She perched on a spindly chair opposite, whilst Xenophilius paced around the room.

It was obvious she had not told her father about her relationship with Ginny. It occurred to Harry that she might not have discussed anything like that with him.

“There’s something else you can help us with,” Harry said, loudly. It was a clumsy change of subject, but Luna smiled at him gratefully. “What do you know about the elder wand?”

“The elder wand?” Xenophilius echoed. He took a sip of the tea, savouring it. “Is one of the Deathly Hallows, along with the resurrection stone and the cloak of invisibility.”

Harry drunk from the tea too, to be polite, and found it sour and sharp. He added more sugar.

“From the Tale of the Three Brothers,” Luna added, with a nod.

“The story doesn’t say anything about Deathly Hallows,” Hermione said.

“Well, no.” Xenophilius looked smug. “ _That_ is a children’s story, meant to contain a moral. But to those of us who know what to look for, know that it refers to the ancient Deathly Hallows.”

“And the elder wand is one of them?” Harry asked. “What’s so special about it?”

“Harry, you’ve read it.” Hermione raised her eyebrows, to convey her disbelief as she recapped, “the wand created by death?”

“Which can never lose a battle,” Xenophilius added. “It has to be captured from the previous owner to become master of it.”

“But if it can never lose a battle, how are you meant to capture it?” Harry pressed.

“By force!” There was a glimmer in Xenophilius’ eye which Harry did not like. “Ebert the egregious slaughtered Emeric the Evil for it. Godelot died in his cellar after his son took it from him. Loxias killed Banabas Deverill after. The Elder wand has left a bloody history behind it.”

“Maybe they should have kept it quiet,” Ron said. “Not gone blabbing to everyone that they had the best wand ever.”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Draco leant back against the cabinets, his tea in hand, though he hadn’t drunk from it. “All those wizards are called terrible and dreadful. There can’t be a Gwendolyn the Good who wants to own the elder wand.”

“Because of its terrible power. It’s too much for one wizard. Only a dark wizard would be arrogant enough to wield it.” Xenophilius spoke like a teacher, and Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Because good wizards shouldn’t aspire to be powerful.”

Harry stared at him. Draco shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t be so edgy,” Hermione snapped. “It’s because dark wizards like to pretend they have an unstoppable power, when they don’t. There are a dozen stories of unbeatable wands – the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny. It’s all rubbish. Some wizards just like to pretend their wands are bigger and better than everyone else’s.”

Ron smirked, covering it by wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I come from dark wizards,” Draco said, raising that same thin eyebrow at Hermione. “And Potter can testify that my wand _is_ better than everyone else’s.”

Harry’s face set itself on fire. He tried to hide his snigger by ducking his chin into his chest, but the wink Draco gave him undid him. They fell against each other, chuckling, and it meant that Ron burst out laughing too.

Hermione sighed at them all.

Xenophilius glared, cheeks scarlet. “This is a _serious_ matter.”

“Of course.” Harry cleared his throat, fighting the grin on his face. “Well, where do you think the wand is now?”

“Alas, the trail has gone cold.” Xenophilius held up his hands. “Some say that Grindlewald was the last owner of the wand.”

But Grindlewald had been defeated by Dumbledore. So if he did have the wand, it wasn’t unbeatable. And it would mean –

Harry turned to Draco. His eyes were narrowed – a sign to keep quiet – but he nodded.

“And the other two hallows,” Harry continued. “The stone?”

“The resurrection stone,” Luna said. “When you turn it over three times, it will bring the person you want back to life. But not as they once were.”

“ _Nothing_ can bring back the dead.” Hermione gave Harry a pointed look, as though she could read his thoughts. He had never told her about the mirror of Erised, but now he thought of it. Thought of Dumbledore’s words – not to dwell on dreams. Had he meant that it was truly impossible?

Did he know about the stone?

“Prove it,” Xenophilius said. There was that nasty glint in his eye.

“I can’t.” Hermione stared at him. “Unless I gather every pebble in the world. Just because nobody has definitely proved it _doesn’t_ exist, doesn’t imply that it _does_.”

Xenophilius’ went back to scowling. He opened his mouth to argue further – and Harry thought it was prudent to change the subject again – “Invisibility Cloaks are real enough.”

“Yes.” Xenophilius nodded to him, smug once more. “Though The Cloak of Invisibility is not one enchanted with a bedazzlement charm, or woven from Demguise hair. Those cloaks fade over the years, or are torn. This cloak cannot be. It will continue to stay completely invisible, no matter what spells are cast at it. I dare Miss Granger to say she’s seen a cloak of that sort.”

Hermione still stared, though Harry could hear the cogs working in her mind. It just so happened they _had_ seen a cloak like that. His father’s.

And he was not the only one who thought of it.

“Harry, you have a wonderful invsibility cloak,” Luna said. “Is it new?”

“Er, yes.” He did not _want_ to lie to her, but he did not like the way Xenophilius was looking at him. It was a greedy stare.

“I gave it to Potter after we started dating,” Draco said, much more smoothly. “To help meet up at Hogwarts.”

The greedy stare turned into something Harry would call hostile. He hoped he was just being paranoid.

“What – what happens when you get all three Hallows?” he asked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

Xenophilius sounded cold as he replied. “One becomes the Master of Death.”

“What does that mean?” Ron asked. “That they can’t die?”

“It means they have conquered death. Vanquished it.”

“So – no one dies?” Ron pressed.

“They control who dies?” Harry tried.

“The details are not clear!” Xenophilius snapped. “Since no one has managed to do so since the Hallows’ creation. Now – I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay any longer than you need to, Mr Potter.”

It was abrupt. Harry blinked at him.

“I suppose I’d better – shower first, then,” he said, straightening. “Thank you for the tea.”

“I’ll show you the bathroom.” Luna stood, leading him up the stairs.

Harry followed, the taste of the tea in his mouth as bitter as the look on Xenohpilius’ face.

*

“I prefer you without the stubble.” Draco rewarded Harry by nipping at his jaw. “And not stinking of sweat.” He bit just under the corner of his jawbone – hard enough for him to gasp. “Though the streaked dirt make it look like you’d just come from a battle.”

“And you liked that, did you?” Harry wrapped his legs around Draco’s hips, pulling him closer. They were waiting in the car – were alone so little now that it always turned into – _this_. A fumbled, desperate embrace whilst they could. Whilst there were no tentmates sighing and rolling their eyes.

Draco pressed his tongue where he had just attacked – grazed his teeth over Harry’s ear lobe. “It was sexy.”

Harry laughed at the idea. “Yeah, well – you too.”

“Really?”

“There’s something about seeing you less than perfect that makes me very happy.” He pressed their waists together and felt Draco chuckled breathlessly in his ear.

But he grew thoughtful, rubbing his thumb in small circles underneath Draco’s shirt.

“Do you think the Hallows really exist?”

“Lovegood thinks they do.” Draco’s hand carded through his hair, and Harry turned to kiss him.

“Is it that crazy? When the Philosopher’s Stone – the Chamber of Secrets – they both exist.”

“A wand that can’t lose? A stone that brings back the dead?” Draco said. “It’s not a secret room under the school.”

“But –” Harry traced the line of Draco’s jaw, thinking. “I’ve had my cloak for years, and it’s the same as it always has been. And it was my Dad’s before mine. That’s not normal.”

“Maybe he took good care of it.” Draco pressed his mouth against the pads of Harry’s fingers. “I don’t know, but I doubt that you have one of –” He put on a grand voice. “ _The Deathly Hallows_ – just – on you?”

He didn’t know. The longer he spent in the wizarding world, the less seemed to be impossible. Was it any stranger than the other things that happened to him over the years?

“Which one would you want? If you could choose?” He traced the line of Draco’s lip – just enough to feel his teeth.

Draco nipped at him. “The story says that you’re meant to choose the cloak.”

“So?”

“So – you’re meant to listen to the story. It has a moral for a reason.” And yet he had the feeling Draco was not being entirely honest with him.

“But – the stone.”

Draco pulled away, so that he was looking down at Harry, a hand either side of his head. “Doesn’t bring people back. Not all the way. It’s probably worse than having them as a ghost.”

Which he knew. He knew, and yet he still could not stop thinking about using it. Just to – talk. Just once. To see if his mother really was as wonderful as everyone said. To see if his father was really a hero. He just wanted to meet them – the real them and not the version everyone had created.

The front door of the car suddenly opened, that they heard Ron’s voice. “–nerve of that old bastard!”

Harry released his legs from around Draco, and they attempted to become vertical, though Draco remained sat on one of Harry’s legs, a hand on Harry’s other thigh.

The other door opened.

“You can’t really blame him, Ron,” Hermione said. “Wizards are a backwards lot to begin with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve enslaved an entire race!” She hit a hand against the dashboard. “Of course they aren’t going to take kindly to –”

She caught sight of Harry in the rearview mirror, and fell silent. Harry shifted, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist as though he was a teddy bear.

“Kindly to what?” he asked.

Ron and Hermione shared a _look._ She bit on her lip and Ron frowned at her.

“We have to tell him,” Ron said. “He deserves to know.”

“Yes, Potter deserves to know, but not me.” Draco squeezed Harry’s thigh – distracting him from the bad feeling in his stomach. “I’ll pop on _my_ invisibility cloak.”

Hermione shook her head and crossed her arms. The seconds ticked on, but she remained silent.

“Quibbler’s taking a new approach,” Ron said. “Lovegood said they demanded he print your wanted poster because they took Luna, but that’s not all.” He swallowed, his knuckles white on the wheel. “Stuff about – you and Malfoy.”

“Well, we came out last year.” Harry caught Draco’s hand, tangling it in his own before he hugged him again. He heard Draco huff.

“Yeah, but – it’s not exactly complimentary.” Ron hadn’t turned round, but Harry could see the back of his ears were red.

“People don’t like that their precious chosen one is gay,” Draco translated.

Oh. Maybe Harry should have been more upset at the prospect. Maybe he would be if he read the article, but he couldn’t find it in him. There was actually a glimmer of relief in it – that he wasn’t the perfect chosen one Potterwatch made him out to be.

Because he was dating a boy. And he was happy with that.

“Bisexual,” he said. “But he doesn’t need to print that now that Luna’s back.”

“He says he has to.” There was barely contained fury in Ron’s voice. “In case they find out, return, and threaten her. They’re having a row about it now. That’s why we thought it was best to wait out here.”

So they fell silent. Draco leant back against Harry, tracing his fingers in vague patterns over Harry’s forearms. Ron stewed, Hermione began biting her fingernails, glancing nervously at the Lovegood house.

“What now?” Harry thought it was the better question to ask. He rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “We know Riddle’s after the Elder Wand –”

“We’re not going after a fairy tale.” Hermione sniffed.

“If that wand can’t lose a battle, it seems like it would be a good weapon to have.”

“And its useless unless we destroy the horcruxes first.”

“But we have no idea where to start looking for Ravenclaw’s diadem.”

“Or how to kill the snake,” Ron added.

They all stayed quiet once more. That was it, Harry thought. They had gone as far as they could. But they were out of ideas – out of options – now. Maybe he would just have to take his chance, when Voldemort eventually caught up to him, and hope that he didn’t have an unbeatable wand.

Did he have to use a wand? Was there a spell that could stop bullets? Surely not, if wizards didn’t know about so many other muggle things.

But even if he knew how to shoot a gun, and how to aim it well, he had no idea how to go about getting one. It was illegal to carry firearms. Getting the Muggle Police involved would turn everything into a muddle.

And yet –

“Ravenclaw was born in Scotland,” Draco said, suddenly.

Hermione half-turned to him. “So?”

“So if there’s anywhere to start looking for the diadem, it’s the glens in Scotland. We can try and follow the trail from there.”

It was, Harry supposed, as good a plan as any, and he raised his eyebrows at Ron to help convey this. Ron shrugged and gave a half-nod in return, seeming to agree with him.

Hermione sighed, but pulled out the road maps and begun to look for a route to Scotland. Hogwarts was there, Harry noted. Hogwarts was where Dumbledore was.

If Grindlewald owned the Elder Wand, then Dumbledore was the wizard who had defeated him.

It was just a wizard story. But it wasn’t the kind of thing that he was happy chancing. After all, his invisibility cloak did seem unusual. More unusual than most other things in the wizarding world.

There was a blonde spot running down the hill towards them. He recognised Luna, and when he squinted, saw that her father was at the door of the house.

He got out of the car, and held the door open for Draco, taking his elbow to help him out.

“You should go,” Luna said when she was close enough. “Daddy’s going to call the Ministry.”

“That _coward_!” Ron snapped. “Spending all this time saying how we need to support Harry, but not stepping up to the plate himself.”

Luna frowned at the grass.

Hermione elbowed Ron, giving him a pointed look, but he just shrugged.

“I’m not staying,” Luna muttered. “I won’t, now.”

“But you can’t go back to Hogwarts.” Draco put a hand on her shoulder.

She smiled, though her eyes were damp. “I can. The Room of Requirement. You said you got through from The Hog’s Head? I’ll go from there.”

“Are you sure?”

Luna looked back at the house. She shook her messy hair, taking a rattling breath.

“One day – I’ll forgive him,” she said, taking Draco’s hand. She swung it between them, but her arm was limp. “But I cannot stay with a man who would not support my friends.” The damp was on her eyelashes, so that they glittered in the afternoon light. “Or me.”

Draco enveloped her in a tight hug. She returned it, though her shoulders were shaking. They stayed together for a long time, before she pulled away, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

Harry hugged her too, and whispered for her to be safe. She returned the sentiment, and he could only give a hollow laugh.

Then it was back to the car. Watching the small blonde shape that was Luna run back towards the house, presumably to get her things. And Harry wished he was taking a broom, or getting the train – anything other than being sat in the back of the car, legs squashed, seatbelt with just enough pressure on him to be uncomfortable. It was too cold now to open the windows and it felt stuffy and full. He couldn’t stand the thought of driving all the way to Scotland, but he knew they couldn’t stop. The more time they wasted, the more names would appear on Potterwatch.

They had the power to end the war. Wasting time because Harry wanted to stretch his legs was irresponsible.

Not to mention, the full moon would be looming again soon, and they only had enough Wolfsbane for one more cycle. He did not think it would be easy to pop into the apothecary for more.

“Did you see Luna’s bedroom?” Ron asked, when they were in the air.

“Don’t,” Hermione said. “It was – sweet.”

Harry had seen Luna’s room. Had seen the six portraits painted on her walls, with the word ‘friends’ chaining them together. It was definitely a shock to see such a huge picture of himself. But Luna was good at art – he was impressed.

And did – appreciate it, but –

“It was creepy,” Ron said. “Could you imagine sleeping with six huge faces staring at you?”

“Six faces of your friends,” Hermione corrected.

“Yeah, no. Harry’s my best friend but I wouldn’t want him staring at me all night. No offence, mate.”

“None taken.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “So, _I’m_ not your best friend?”

“Well – you’re –” Ron cleared his throat, his cheeks going crimson. “You’re my –”

“Your what, Ronald?”

“My – um – well, it’s not like I would kiss Harry, would I?”

Harry chirped from the backseat, sarcastically, “thanks, Ron.”

He turned, looking pained. “No _offence_!”

Harry laughed at his expression, and that surprised him, because he did not feel much like laughing at all. But it made Hermione giggle too. And suddenly they were all chuckling, even though it wasn’t that funny.

But, if he didn’t laugh, he thought he might break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): So as someone who is bi, I found that Ron and Hermione being together in this fic meant a lot, actually. Ron's implied bisexuality with Nott is not erased by him being with Hermione, and I don't see a lot of bi characters ending up in 'straight' relationships.
> 
> But yeah, I thought I'd give the cup something more to it, and say that it was showing its cards quickly because it could sense destruction was imminent. 
> 
> As always - I cannot thank you enough for reading/kudos-sing/commenting etc etc - if I don't reply to comments it's because I can only say 'thank you!!!' and don't want to bother you with the notification. It really does mean the world to me and its the reason I keep writing. Please do leave something below to let me know you're still reading 
> 
> And I'll see you next week xx


	20. 20

They stopped again in the evening and Harry was desperate for the fresh air. It was cold enough for his breath to appear in icy puffs now, so he bundled himself into a sweatshirt, sitting outside the tent. They were on the edge of a woods and the grass was blanketed with dead leaves. A huge oak spread over him, branches like black spiderwebs against an amber sky.

He hoped Luna was okay. Hated leaving her, but couldn’t stand the thought of squashing her in the middle. It would have made the car all the more cramped – and people around Harry tended to die. If she got to the Room of Requirement, he knew that she would be well-protected.

“She’s smart.” Draco stood beside Harry, looking out over the little town in the distance. Pinpricks of yellow light glinted at them – a dozen homes cooking dinner and enjoying a peaceful evening. He was envious. “She’ll get there okay.”

“If she doesn’t get attacked by Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.” Harry leant against Draco’s leg.

“Come inside – it’s freezing out here.”

“It’s freezing in there.” The tent’s insulation left something to be desired.

“Granger’s got flames in a jar,” Draco said.

Harry remembered that trick – remembered huddling around it in second and third year, hiding it because there was no one else in their year who could do it. Remembered the eerie blue light it cast on them as they discussed children being petrified, or Sirius Black breaking in. Those things were scary, but back then, there had been a thrill to it as well.

What if Sirius had bumped into Harry that night, and explained? Would they have been able to catch Pettigrew? Would they have locked him in Azkaban? He wouldn’t have been able to escape – to bring Voldemort back – and Harry would have been able to live with Sirius.

His mind had wandered, and Draco nudged his leg against the side of Harry’s face. “Please? The two of them are holding hands.”

“How awful.” Harry thought of the several times Draco had shoved his tongue in Harry’s mouth in front of the two of them.

“It is when they’re all embarrassed and blushing – _honestly_. I should conjure some little birds to tweet around them, and turn the fire pink.”

“Give them a break. It’s taken seven years.”

“And what should I do instead? Whilst I’m freezing away out here?”

A dark shape flitted over the lights of the town. And even though they were too far away for it to have any effect, a chill ran done Harry’s spine. Dementors.

“I could teach you how to cast a patronus,” he said. Nuzzled Draco’s jeans with his temple. “In case we get separated.”

“I just won’t get separated from you.”

He looked up at him. The setting sun turned Draco’s hair gold – added colour to his skin that it lacked for weeks.

“Why are you against it?”

Draco glanced at him. Narrowed his eyes. “I’m not.”

He was. Harry knew Draco Malfoy well enough to know when he did not want to talk about something. It wreaked havoc between them last year, and he was determined not to let it get to that point again.

“Is it because you’re scared I’ll be able to do something that you can’t?” Harry clambered to his feet, trainers slipping in the grass and leaves. He caught Draco’s arm to steady himself. Leant closer, so that his mouth was almost against Draco’s ear. “Scared, Malfoy?”

Draco gave him a withering look. The kind that he used to give. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Somehow, seeing my childhood home burn down hasn’t put me in the mood for happy memories,” Draco said.

Harry kissed his cheek to show that he was sorry, and Draco pulled him closer.

“I just want you to be able to defend yourself,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Draco’s shoulders and kissing his cheek again. He’d forgotten how smooth cheeks were without a week of stubble there.

“I _can_ defend myself.”

“Not from Dementors.” He kissed Draco’s jaw. “And I might faint, remember?”

It was a joke, and it made Draco scoff.

“Okay – fine.” Draco shifted Harry as he reached for his wand. He pointed it in front of him. “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

A large, wisp of white smoke came from the end of his wand. Bigger than when Harry first leant Expecto Patronum, though not corporeal. It drifted lazily for a moment or two, before it faded away.

“Happy?” Draco asked.

“Happy it will take a dementor two seconds instead of one to take your soul.”

Draco groaned, shaking Harry off. He laughed, wrapping his arm around Draco’s elbow to stop himself from falling over.

“Here,” he said. “Your stance is off.”

“Oh?” Draco raised an eyebrow. He smirked, and it still had the power to send Harry’s heart into a frenzy. “By all means, Professor, put your arms around me to help my ‘stance.’”

Harry felt his cheeks warm. Tried to sound confident and flirty in return, “well, since you asked so nicely.”

He stepped around Draco. Adjusting his hips – a hand his lower back – on his shoulder – so that his arm was at the right angle. He continued holding him, because Draco was warm, and so that he could whisper, “we’ll always have Paris.”

Draco cast again. The patronus was brighter this time, and stayed hovering in the air for much longer. It still wasn’t corporeal, but it was a start.

“You just want to see what animal it is,” Draco grumbled, when Harry asked him to try again.

He laughed. “Never.”

“Do you two want any dinner?”

It was Ron. Head poking out of the tent. His cheeks were bright red and there was a glassy look to his eyes. Harry smiled – realising what he must have been like when he’d first started dating Draco. Probably unbearable.

“Absolutely.” Draco slipped out of Harry’s grip, pressing a kiss to his temple, before disappearing inside.

His own stomach rumbled, so he followed. Hermione had levitated four soup cans over the fire, rotating them slowly around each other. They ate it with bread and butter, and Harry though there was nothing better in the world. Particularly when there was still a collection of crisps and chocolate to follow.

Draco had been right about Ron and Hermione. They sat with their hands clasped on the table in front of them, cheeks flushed and barely able to look each other in the eye. He suspected it would be easier for them if he and Draco stayed outside – though he couldn’t say that he would be enthusiastic about sleeping in the car in this weather.

He was happy for them, he told himself. And added that the peace of quiet – for both Ron and Hermione were too embarrassed to say anything – was relaxing.

But was it? His mind turned to Voldemort – Tom Riddle – he’d started using that name in case Voldemort really was taboo. But it helped ease the sense of dread that climbed in him whenever he pictured that pale, red-eyed face. He was searching for the elder wand. If it truly was unbeatable, then even when they destroyed all the horcruxes, would it make any difference?

Of course, he could check what Riddle was doing. If he took down the barriers his mind had built over the last two years, he could use their connection to his advantage. Even plant messages to throw Riddle off their tracks.

But that was dangerous. Both Hermione and Draco would tell him that. It would be playing with fire and the situation was too dire to risk getting burnt.

As it was, he let those worries buzz around his head like wasps as he tried to get some rest. Now that there was time to sleep, he found he was unaccustomed to it, and it took hours for him to drift off.

He woke when it was still dark, but from the sounds of the birds outside, he judged that it was the early hours of the morning.

Draco was not at his side, though for once, Harry relished the free space that give him to arch his back. Everything seemed to ache whenever he was sat still these days.

“I wanted to ask you.” Hermione’s voice was quiet – hesitant, which was not like her. “Back at the manor – it must have crossed your mind to use a –” she paused. “Nastier spell.”

There was a longer pause. A silence that made Harry’s heart pound in his chest.

He trusted Draco. He trusted Draco.

“There’s a big difference,” came the reply. Just as slow. “Between using a prank spell and an unforgivable curse. It would have been ridiculous to cast something like tarantagella, given the circumstances.”

“And completely justified to use the cruciatus curse.” The confidence returned to Hermione’s voice. A distanced logic. “Unless you held back because I’m a girl?”

“No,” Draco replied. “I wouldn’t have been able to cast that.”

Hermione laughed. It was a haughty sound. She didn’t believe him – had never, Harry realised, trusted Draco completely.

“I’m serious. You have to really _mean_ an unforgiveable curse. Really _want_ to cast it. I don’t – didn’t at that moment, anyway. Being on the receiving end of it will do that.”

She frowned. “When –”

“Last year.” A pause. “Harry too.”

Draco’s voice turned soft at the name. As though it was something that would break if it was said aloud. Harry’s stomach squeezed – chest burnt at the memory of Draco’s scream. He could understand Draco losing the taste for that spell.

“He never said –”

“He wouldn’t, would he? Always plays the matyr.”

“And you don’t?” Hermione’s voice was cold.

Draco matched it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re not in the least upset about your home burning down? Your mother’s still missing, for goodness sake.”

“And you don’t feel any guilt that you _erased_ your parents’ memory, and sent them off to Australia?”

Silence. Harry could imagine the two of them glaring at each other from over the low table. The seconds dragged on, and his heart pounded.

Draco broke it. “I think about my mother every day. And hopefully the reason I have not heard from her is because she’s still in hiding and not dead. Or worse. But bringing it up won’t help her. And I never expected to see the manor again anyway.”

There wasn’t even bitterness in his voice. Just a resignation, and that was worse.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “And thank you – for – being decent.”

“Careful, Granger. That was almost a compliment.”

“You’re _unbearable_.” It was such a familiar snap of disgust, that Harry felt a rush of relief.

“You wouldn’t want me any other way.” And then, a barely audible. “Sorry about your parents.”

Harry breathed out. And smiled.

*

They drove, landed in the glens this time, and everything was so vibrant in Scotland. The grass seemed so much _greener_ , the dying leaves brilliant fires of oranges and reds – the sky impossibly blue.

A trip into town showed them the details of Rowena Ravenclaw’s birthplace, and they drove, on the road for once, to it. There was a pub where her house once was – boasting that fact – and decorated with blue and bronze banners outside – blue flowers in the windowsills. Harry’s window was down, and he could smell fish and chips from inside. His stomach rumbled for them – for a good, hot dinner.

Luckily, Ron smelt it too, and began badgering Hermione for it. Draco agreed, probably just to spite her, regardless of their earlier conversation. They parked up, fetched some galleons from Hermione’s bag, conjured disguises, then entered.

The inside was full of bright blue and bronze – the Ravenclaw crest printed on everything big enough for it to be legible on. The place was clearly full of wizards – as if the robes weren’t clue enough, there was Celestina Warbeck playing over the speakers and Quidditch projected onto an unrolled tapestry.

They moved hastily through the crowd, finding a table tucked into the corner and ordered four fish and chips, and four butterbeers.

 _Butterbeer_. Harry had missed Butterbeer. When his flagon – embossed with the Ravenclaw crest – was set down in front of him, he was sure that he could down the whole thing.

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked the waitress – a girl with dark tresses the same as Rowena’s. “But we’re looking into Rowena Ravenclaw for a school project. Would there happen to be anymore information on her lost diadem?”

The girl rolled her eyes, and pointed to the wall behind them, before she took her leave.

It was covered in a swirling, copper script with ‘The Tale of the Diadem’ at the top – Hermione flushed when she saw it, and Ron smirked. Harry craned his neck, and read it.

_Ravenclaw, who valued wisdom above all else, once created a diadem, inscribed with her motto ‘wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,’ which she enhanced to grant the wearer just a fraction of her gifts._

_Unfortunately, her daughter, Helena, was jealous of her mother’s gifts. And so, one night, stole her diadem, and fled from Hogwarts School. Her mother, broken-hearted at the betrayal, sent the man who loved her to fetch her back._

_When he discovered her, and she refused to return, he ran his sword through her in a desperate rage. Once he realised what he had done, and held the woman he so cherished in his arms, he impaled himself on that same sword._

_The diadem is still lost, and the man now known as The Bloody Baron._

It was certainly dramatic, and fantastical.

“Well –” Harry began.

“Oh, what a load of rubbish,” Hermione said.

“That sounds familiar though.” Ron shrugged. “And why would they lie?”

“ _Honestly_.” Hermione rolled her eyes, then gestured around the pub. “This whole place is capitalising on Rowena Ravenclaw. Of course they’d tell the most dramatic story possible – _and_ tie it into Hogwarts whilst they’re at it.”

It was the moment that the girl came back with their food. She glared at Hermione, who’s voice had carried. Harry took the food hastily, saying “thank you,” as innocently as he could.

“I mean,” Ron said, scratching his ear. “Does anyone _know_ how the Bloody Baron got that way?”

They looked to Draco as the picked up their cutlery. He was neatly excavating a chip from a pile of mushy peas, and rolled his eyes at being dragged into the conversation.

“And just because I’m a Slytherin, I’m meant to know?”

“You did talk to the mermaids,” Harry said, around a mouthful of fish.

“Because I was going through gay-crisis – if I asked the Baron about that he’d probably die again of shock.” Draco ate the chip, and sighed. “If you asked him what happened to him, he’d fly into a fit of rage.”

“But he’s a ghost,” Ron said. “So surely he can’t do anything?”

“Is it pleasant to have a ghost go through you?” Draco replied. “His sword didn’t kill you, but you couldn’t stop him from following you around and slashing you with it.”

Harry shuddered at the many memoies of turning a corner, only to have a ghost pass through him – as cold as an ice box.

“So that story could be true,” he said.

“Even if it _is_.” Hermione had just finished slathering her food in salt and vinegar. “It’s not like it tells us _where_ Helena Ravenclaw hid the diadem.”

Which was, they all had to concede, the most important part. It was agreed that they should fact check the story, though with the early sundown, everything in the little village would shut down. The night was spent, instead, enjoyed a good hot meal and warm, sweet butterbeer. A night, Harry realised, that normal teenagers enjoyed. He strived to make the most of it, revelling in the warmth of the pub – paying an interest to the Quidditch, though he didn’t support either team.

Draco’s arm snaked low around his back, hand on his waist so that it was not obvious, and he palmed Draco’s thigh. Noticed Ron and Hermione sitting closer to each other as they ordered more Butterbeer, until they wasn’t an inch between them.

Hermione rested her head on Ron’s shoulder – Harry saw it out of the corner of his eye and smiled, but didn’t comment.

They were kicked out half an hour before curfew – before the Dementors would take to the streets in search of Harry Potter. The car was driven to a grassy knoll outside the village.

As they put up the protective enchantments, the dementors appeared. Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly cast Patronuses, so that a trio of silver animals circled them. But they were only passing through on the way to the village. The few that veered their way, were quickly seen off. The familiar light-headedness – familiar screaming – that accompanied them hit Harry, as well as the icy cold terror that they were after _him_. Would they have the self-control to hand him over to the Death Eaters? Or would they administer the kiss on sight?

He shuddered, and pressed into Draco.

The dementors had ruined the jovial air of the evening. Hermione and Ron went to the tent, to get ready for an early morning of research the next day. Draco made to follow them. Harry caught his hand.

“Will you try again?” he asked.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow at him, swinging their hands. “I think four patronuses is overkill.”

“In case we get split up.”

“Then I’ll have you.”

Harry stepped closer. “One patronus isn’t enough.”

“It is if its yours.” Draco’s lips grazed his. Not a proper kiss – just a tantalization to get Harry to kiss him properly. Usually enough to distract him, but he tried to control himself.

Kissed Draco once, as a thank you for the flattery. “Please?”

Because they could be separated. And he worried about that. Was sure that after their brush with them the last two nights, he would be having dreams full of a dementor’s scaly hand on Draco’s jaw.

“I’m tired.” And Draco glanced up at the rising moon to illustrate his point. It was a waxing gibbous. Almost full.

“Once?” Harry kissed Draco again. Ran his tongue over Draco’s bottom lip just lightly, as a tease.

It worked. “Once.”

And he did. The result was the same as the previous night. A non-corpereal that disappeared after a minute or so.

“Happy?” Draco asked.

“I first cast a corporeal patronus when Sirius was about to die,” Harry said. “Maybe I should get out there and –”

“ _No_.” Draco caught his shoulder, tugging him to the tent as he laughed. It seemed too loud in the night, but chased away the lingering presence of the dementors.

They entered the tent to find Hermione and Ron sat close on the other bunk, their faces close and their voices too quiet for Harry to make out the words. Ron kissed her, gently, and he heard a girlish giggle that he never would have associated with Hermione.

But then she spotted him, and a pillow hit his face before he could blink.

“I let you see me and Draco kissing,” he muttered, as the pillow fell to the floor.

Ron and Hermione were sat a firm foot away from each other, both bright red.

“Some of us have modesty,” Hermione replied, curtly. She crossed her arms, looking away from both of them.

“Modesty? Did you ever see Ron and Lavender last year?”

“She was a leech, though,” Ron said. He toed off his trainers, making a performance of stretching and yawning. “Well – I’m heading to bed, I think. Exhausted after a day of being the sole driver.”

Harry shook his head, but found himself yawning too. The fish and chips sat in his stomach, making him feel full for the first time since Grimmauld Place.

The next morning brought rain to the village, tinting everything with grey. The dark clouds overhead did empty the streets, however and allowed them to hide under hoods and caps without so much suspicion.

There was a small library in the town, and that was Hermione’s first stop. Its front table boasted a small collection of Rowena Ravenclaw books, which she piled up in Ron’s arms. They sat at a table, and each combed through them for any mention of the diadem.

Half of the books did not mention it ever being lost and assumed that it was buried with Ravenclaw.

“I suppose we could add grave-robbing to our list of crimes?” Ron suggested.

“Actually, if Riddle’s used it already – then it wouldn’t be grave-robbing,” Harry replied. “More like – grave-looking.”

“Not sure that’s any more legal,” Draco said.

Hermione glared at the three of them, until they returned to their books. She disappeared to fetch history books instead, coming back with a fresh tower that made Harry’s heart sink. The one good thing about not being at Hogwarts this year had been no visits to the library – no homework – no exams.

They continued searching. The rest of the books told a similar story to the inn – that it was Helena Ravenclaw who took the diadem and fled. Most did not venture to say where, but the few that did mentioned Albania.

“That was where he went.” Harry tapped the page of the book. “When he was first defeated.”

“I doubt it would be the same forest,” Hermione said. “Albania’s small, but it’s not _that_ small.”

“Weird that it’s come up again, though,” Ron said.

“So, what? You want to drive to Albania and search the woods?” Draco asked. He sat back from the books, raising an eyebrow.

“We could fly over the channel,” Ron replied. “Get there and back in a week.”

“You can drop me and Potter in Paris.” Draco nudged his foot under the table. Drew it up the inside of Harry’s leg, and he shifted, smiling at the touch.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let’s keep searching before we cross the channel. It’s just like you-know-who to hide it somewhere here. As some kind of awful irony to the place.”

“Pub?” Harry suggested, turning to Ron.

Ron grinned. “Pub.”

Hermione did not look impressed. “I suppose it’s a start.”

“And we’re close to Hogwarts again,” Harry continued, in an attempt to appease her. “We could always drop in and ask the Bloody Baron.”

“Maybe.”

They left Hermione in the library, in case she found anything further, continuing on to search the other buildings in the town. There was a small exhibit on Ravenclaw, with a replica of the diadem. For a moment, Harry’s heart leapt at the sight, but it brought none of the feelings that a horcrux usually did. There were other little shops and places, but none that looked promising. None were tied to the dark arts, either.

Which left them meeting Hermione in the pub. She had not found anything further, but looked more energetic than Harry had seen her in days. It was the books, he supposed.

It became apparent that the diadem was not hidden in the pubs. Harry used the invisibility cloak to nip into the kitchen and look upstairs, but found ordinary rooms. He even brought up the ancient dumbwaiter. It sat empty.

They brought pies, even though it brought them down to their last few sickles. Hermione duplicated them for the road.

Once more, they returned to the campsite as curfew fell. Only they hadn’t taken into account how much slower it was to walk as opposed to drive. They were at the bottom of the hill that the car was sat on when the Dementors came.

Harry, Ron and Hermione cast their patronuses, and the group grew more tight-knit. Harry found Draco’s hand and clasped it tightly as the screaming began. A familiar nausea found its way from his stomach.

Ron and Hermione continued on, but he found his steps slowing. Found it harder to push away the feelings of despair the dementors always brought this time. Were there more of them? It seemed like there were more? A flock of dark, cloaked figures swarming around them.

Neither of them noticed Harry slowing – were bundled against each other to stave off the cold and concentrating on getting up the hill as fast as possible. Their patronuses looked at the stag, before they followed suit.

It was just Harry’s patronus now. Still rearing its antlers at the dementors. But it seemed fainter now.

He was losing it.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pressing closer to Draco. Because the dementors had turned now, and even though they didn’t have eyes, seemed to be staring at him.

They knew it was him.

His patronus started to disappear in the wind and the spitting rain.

Draco’s arm came around him. Strong. Pressing him to his side. Harry was sure that he’d swallow his pride and call for Ron and Hermione to come back – they were not that far, and their patronuses still cast strong white light.

But, despite everything, Draco Malfoy still had his pride.

“Expecto patronum.” Draco’s voice was level. Calm. Harry looked up as white light lit his face – made his skin look like porcelain and his eyes look like steel.

He’d cast a corporeal patronus. One that glided, a long neck snapping at the dementors.

Harry found himself laughing with the joy of it. Draco had a patronus. It was proof. Proof that he had happy memories, and that made Harry incredibly relieved. The feeling of despair ran off him like rainwater.

He managed to cast his again, and his stag pranced around the white swan as they fended off the circle of black cloaks around them. Followed them all the way up to the tent, where Ron and Hermione were ashen-faced and full of apologies.

It didn’t seem to matter to Harry. He was beaming.

Draco had a patronus.

“See?” he said. “I told you I should get out there, and –”

“Absolutely not.” Draco shook his head. But then pressed a kiss against Harry’s scar. It tingled. He hoped Riddle could feel that – could feel the joy and love that was flowing through him. It would be a brilliant ‘fuck you.’

“It worked,” Harry said.

“It did.”

Draco looked at the swan, as it faded away, it’s silvery light merging with the deers in the dark night. It suited Draco, Harry thought. They had the same look of regality about them – and the same feralness, when it came down to it. And, he supposed, Draco had been an ugly duckling of sorts, in their first few years.

He still had to ask, though, as they were falling asleep in the warmth (warmer than it was outside, anyway) and the dry, “why a swan?”

Draco kissed Harry’s scar again.

Whispered, “Swans mate for life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): I wanted a bird that mates for life as Draco's patronuses, and was hoping peacocks do, but they don't. So I went for another regal bird instead. Swans are also pretty scary when you're close to them and will hiss at you, which I think is fitting for Draco Malfoy. (I'm chill with them though - I used to feed one by hand in my first year of university. Unfortunately he was murdered by another swan.) But yeah, I kind of hate the patronus lining up with the animal your 'true love' is. Patronuses are likened to souls/spirit animals and both times we see it happens reduces the woman to the man in her life. Draco's thinking about romantic love, and a swan is a nice symbol of that too. vuv
> 
> As always - thanks so so much for all of the comments!! They're what keep me writing this fic and I really do appreciate them! If I don't reply, it's because I can only say thank you!! <3 xxx


	21. 21

21

“Potter has been sighted in Scotland. A dozen small villages in the Glen area have reported seeing him, which leads us to conclude that there are ten or so Potters running around.” Lee Jordan’s voice came through the radio. “I would ask that anyone listening _not_ report Potter to the Ministry, or the Death Eaters, but if you _are_ listening, you’re probably a supporter of his anyway.”

Jordan’s tone was light, but the atmosphere in the tent was not. They sat around the radio, huddled in jumpers, with grim faces.

“We need to move tonight,” Hermione said. “If the Dementors did recognise you –”

“I know.” The elation Harry felt at Draco’s patronus had swiftly dissolved. There were being watched. Closely. By their friends and enemies, and he didn’t know which was worse.

Ron sighed, getting to his feet. “Let’s get going then.”

“And I don’t think it’s a good idea for us all to go out together,” Hermione continued. “They know all of us, and we’re easily recognised.”

A flare of indignanation went through Harry. “So, we’re meant to set here doing nothing whilst you do all the research?”

“We can take it in turns. We have the cloak.”

“Four people can search faster than one.”

“Four people are caught faster than one!” Hermione snapped.

“She’s right,” Draco said. Harry turned on him, betrayed, and Draco took his hand. “I want to survive. And I want _you_ to survive, remember?”

He did. Remembered not being able to promise he wouldn’t die. Remembered wishing that he could. But that didn’t make agreeing to sit in a cold tent and not _do_ anything all day any easier. It made him feel caged. Useless.

How could he sit still when there was still so much to be done?

But he couldn’t argue with Draco, so he said nothing. Ron clapped his hands onto his legs and said for them to get going again, and he helped pack everything up. They drove – taking to the air instead of the roads, to a few villages over.

Which was just as well. Potterwatch the next day confirmed that Potter was driving a blue Ford Anglia. And it was a difficult day, with only Hermione venturing into the town. The three left sat impatiently, starting a half-dozen games of wizards chess and wondering how they used to fill the time.

Homework, was the conclusion. But only because it had taken Harry and Ron so long to do essays. Even then, there seemed to be more to talk about at Hogwarts. There was gossip, and jokes didn’t require effort to laugh at. They could wonder how everyone was doing, but it had to be admitted that none of them would be good. Harry just hoped that Luna had made it back to Hogwarts.

Hermione returned, as they sat in the protective circle, heating up tins of soup dinner, but brought no more revelations. The stories of the diadems in this village were much the same as the last, and nowhere seemed to hint where Helena had hidden it.

“Not that it truly matters anyway,” Hermione continued, poking her wand at one of the sausages. “Because you-know-who will have taken it, and we have no way to trace where _he_ put it.”

“Maybe he enchanted it, and left it where it was,” Harry said. “If it was so well-hidden, anyway.”

Hermione did not look convinced. “Maybe.”

“This is a wizard village, isn’t it?” Draco asked. “Were there any – less than welcoming places?”

It took Hermione a moment to realise his meaning, and when she did, she scowled, “if you mean –”

“Dark magic shops. If anywhere has seen the diadem in the last six-hundred years, they will have.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Hermione insisted. “We don’t have any Polyjuice potion left. There’s no way we won’t be noticed.”

“But he’s right.” Harry told himself he was not just talking to make it seem as though he was helping. “I mean – Riddle worked at Borgin and Burkes. It would be the perfect place to find good Horcruxes.” He leant forward, the warmth of the fire urging him on. “He’s not an idiot. If he followed the wand to Grindlewald, then he’ll follow it to Dumbledore. Then he’ll be ready. And we won’t be. We _can’t_ lose this race, Hermione.”

She looked surprised. They all did, though Harry was not sure why. It was the truth. If Riddle got his hands on the Elder wand, he would turn all his attention onto Harry. And he would not allow anyone to be caught in the crossfire.

Draco looped his arm through Harry’s, and it seemed they had won. They ate the soup and stale bread in silence, finishing just before the Dementors swarmed past the tent. There seemed to be more of them now – a big, black mass bundling around them.

The terror that they knew him – were searching for _him_ – hit Harry like a weight. Made it almost impossible to cast his patronus, especially when his vision was clouded at the edges. Draco all but carried him into the tent, and held him as he tried to fight back the panic. He stayed quiet, fingers pressing into Harry to give away his worry.

He pressed against Draco, but still felt chilled to his bones, even as he fell asleep.

*

The next day dawned with watery sunlight, though the inside of the tent was still cold. Draco transfigured his hair dark once more, donned sunglasses and one of Harry’s hoodies, in order to visit the dark magic shop.

Harry insisted he go with him, under the invisibility cloak. He snapped at Hermione when she protested, and to his surprise, she fell back. Ron assured her that it would be good to have a day to themselves. Said he spotted blackberries growing in the bushes nearby, and Hermione seemed to soften at the idea of an Autumnal date.

So after a breakfast of dry cereal, he headed into the village with Draco, and found that most of the shops had pumpkins on display. September was gone. They were in October – when had that happened?

Harry thought of the dates on his parents' grave. Halloween. Had he ever known the date they died? At Hogwarts, the feast had kept him occupied and in good spirits, whereas the Dursley's would never have acknowledged the anniversary of that event.

It also meant the full moon was drawing close once more.

"Should we pick up wolfsbane?" he whispered, pressing close to Draco so he was not bumped into. The streets seemed busy - the threat of curfew, Harry supposed.

Draco's lips tightened. "Don't have the money."

They had spent it on fish and chips. And Draco hadn't said anything. Harry hadn't thought about it and wanted to kick himself for being so stupid.

"It's fine," Draco murmured. "I've got enough for this moon."

"But next month-"

Draco didn't reply. He turned down a narrow alley, which immediately blocked out the brightness of the day. It was mainly the doors to the apartments above the other shops down here, their paint peeling away.

Then there was the small, dark magic shop. _The Imp and the Redcap_. The smeared window held a collection of misshapen bottles, a large, dark mirror and what looked like a row of troll toes.

Draco pushed the door open.

It was even darker inside, so the objects on display were menacing shadows around them. At least, Harry thought, it was cleaner than Borgin and Burke's.

A witch was polishing the row of jewellery set behind her - Harry thought of the necklace that had nearly killed Katie Bell the year before and shuddered - and she gave Draco a suspicious eye as he approached. She was old, but not hag-like, with her white hair tied back in a plait.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" she asked, her accent strong. "It’s dangerous to be around here."

Maybe they should not have shaved, after all.

"I graduated last year." And Draco sounded remarkably English - remarkably posh in comparison. The witch raised her eyebrows. "I'm - doing some research for one of my teachers."

She did not look convinced. "Aye, on the dark arts?"

There was only a half-second pause before Draco came out with, “Supplementary magic items and their affects. The contrast between the acceptability of a Quick Notes Quill compared to an auto-answer quill and self-correcting ink.”

The woman looked surprised, then shrugged and gestured to the back, “auto-answer quills are over there.”

It was not what they were looking for, but Draco still thanked her, and headed to look at them. Harry stayed silent - what could he do? After a few minutes, Draco returned to the desk, tapped his fingers on it, since the woman had gone back to polishing jewellery.

"The real hypothesis is about items that _truly_ enhance the wearer," he said. "Something that innately increases your wisdom."

The woman rolled her eyes so forcefully, Harry worried they would go to the back of her head. "If you wanted to know about Ravenclaw's diadem you didn't have to lie."

Draco blinked, and Harry had to cover his mouth to stop himself from sniggering aloud. Recovered quickly.

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Anything more than anyone else round here?" The woman shrugged, but leant forward, putting on a conspiratorial tone. "Word is, Helena took it to Albania. That's all I know."

She spoke like she was talking about a campfire story.

Draco did not seem fazed. He leant across too. "Do you know anyone who knows more?"

"No." She looked suspicious now - more than before. "They do sell replicas down the street if you want one for your...hypothesis."

"Hm." Draco pulled away. Brushed non-existent lint from his shoulder. "Well, thank you."

He did not glance back as he left the store - barely held the door long enough for Harry to slip through as well. He was disappointed, Harry could tell by the set of his jaw. That was a tiny scrap of information, and had nothing to back it up. They didn't have any other leads.

For once, Draco's charm had not helped him.

*

At least Ron seemed impressed when they arrived back at the tent. His fingers were stained red with blackberry juice.

"Albania’s where you-know-who disappeared off to when Harry defeated him the first time," he said.

Harry did not want to suggest that it could also be the last time. Especially if the Elder Wand really couldn't lose.

"But that was after he made the diadem a horcrux." Hermione ate one of the blackberries. "Surely."

"Maybe he left it there," Ron said. "Went back to check on it."

Draco picked a blackberry too. Rolled it between his fingers and frowned. "Albania's a small country but I don't relish the thought of searching it all for a lost tiara. On the off-chance that is where she went, _and_ that its still there."

Ron was not going to give up that easily. "What other choice do we have?"

"We ask the Bloody Baron," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head. There was a twig caught in her hair. "We'd have to get into Hogwarts."

"We could ask the DA," Harry pressed.

She sighed, irritated. "The galleons aren't designed like that."

"But we could take the passage to the room of requirement-"

"Too risky."

"Everything is risky right now, Hermione. We're _wanted_." He shook the invisibility cloak to prove his point. And as he did a thought occurred to him. "Do you really think that it's a Deathly Hallow?"

"No." Hermione looked to Draco, who agreed with her. Harry hated that - it was unnatural for them not to argue. But then, even Ron looked doubtful.

"What I mean is -" Harry smoothed out the fabric, as though he was soothing it from their lack of faith. "Do you think Dumbledore thought it was?"

"What does that matter?" Draco asked.

"Because - he was holding onto it for my father. He gave it to me. If he thought that Grindlewald did have the Elder Wand - that he beat him, so had it - then that's two Hallows." The last was the stone. For a moment, he was at a loss - thinking back on the collection of paperweights in Dumbledore's office. Then it hit him. "The ring."

"The Horcrux? The one that made his hand -" Ron gestured with his own.

"It belonged to the Gaunts. Dumbledore showed me a memory - Riddle's grandfather said they were direct descendants of the Peverells. There was a symbol on it, before it was broken." And, because Hermione opened her mouth to protest, Harry continued quickly. "I'm not saying it can actually bring people back from the dead - I'm saying that maybe Dumbledore thought it _was_ the resurrection stone. Then he would _think_ that he had all three Hallows "

His theory was met with silence. Ron and Hermione exchanged long looks. Draco helped himself to another blackberry, his face thoughtful. That made Harry hopeful - made him think he had at least one ally.

But then Draco tilted his head to one side, frowning. "He had the cloak? For your father?"

"Yes." Where was he going with this?

"When he knew that the Dark Lord was after them?" 

"Now you've gone too far, Draco!" Hermione cried, spots of colour appearing in her cheeks.

Harry frowned at him. The insinuation - the thought that - it was too far. Dumbledore had manipulated a lot of Harry's life, but surely not -

"It's a good invisibility cloak," Draco said. Grazed his fingers over it. "Would have been very helpful, I'm sure."

"They had a secret keeper." Harry's voice sounded far from his body. "Pettigrew betrayed them."

"And no one thought he would?" Draco pressed.

Harry shook his head - half out of exasperation. Because Dumbledore could not see the future - it was not - could not - have been planned.

He wanted one thing that was purely an evil person doing evil things. One thing that just happened to Harry.

But it did remind him of the date. Of the pumpkins in town. Halloween.

The snitch said it would open at the close. Would that be then? Another year of Harry being the Chosen One closing.

He wanted to ask, but they all froze as they heard the same thing. Voices outside the tent. Maybe just walkers - still too close for comfort.

Draco grabbed the invisibility cloak. Tugged it around Harry's shoulders, and when he opened his mouth to protest, kissed him. His lips tingled with it.

They all stood, listening.

"-Suspicious." It was the shopkeeper. Harry recognised the sound of her voice.

"Bitch," Draco hissed.

They pulled back the entrance of the tent, though their enchantments were sure to have held. There was a handful of, seemingly ordinary, people from the village, trekking over the grass, and looking around. For them. Unfortunately, they were accompanied by two figures clad in Death Eater robes, their faces hidden. Skulls stared unseeingly past them.

"I can't believe you let yourself be recognised," Hermione said.

"It was the accent," Harry said, and the three of them jumped. They had clearly forgotten where he was.

"Never mind _that_." Draco waved a hand. "What’s our plan?”

“Fight,” Ron said. He already had his wand out. “It’s too late to breakout disguises.”

“It might not come to that.” Hermione’s wand was out too, the end glowing as she reinforced the charms around them. “They might not be able to find us.”

The group was talking. The woman from the shop was asking about a reward, and her friends were indignant about how to split it up.

“Hold on, hold on,” one of the Death Eaters said. “We don’t even know you’ve found anything. All you had was an English tourist.”

“It was the Malfoy boy,” the woman snapped. “I’m sure of it. And Potter wouldn’t be far from him.”

She added a few choice words, and Harry supposed they should have rolled off of him by now. But they still left him with an unsettled feeling. He seemed to broil under the cloak. Indignant at having to hide, when he would not have minded going out there and showing them just what the undesirable number one could do.

That was it.

He would.

“I’ve got an idea,” Harry said.

“What?” Hermione asked, at the same moment Draco frowned and hissed, “Potter!”

He ducked out of Malfoy’s grip. Slipped from the tent and across the grass, rain soaking into his trainers. When he turned back, he only saw the hillside.

Harry started small. Tripped the slow bloke at the back of the group, blew on the back of a woman’s neck. Ghosted his hand down someone else’s back – tugged someone’s hair. He bobbed out of the way, pulling clothes.

The group turned on each other, starting to argue about who it was. The sound of that covered up Harry whispering “wigardium leviosa,” and starting to pull one of the Death Eater’s masks from their face.

“Stop that!” They yanked it back on.

And then seemed to realise that no one was holding their wand. They all froze, looking at each other.

Harry stepped forward, picking up the hem of the Death Eater’s robe and pulling it upwards. Someone in the tent must have caught onto his idea, because there was an ominous wailing sound from that direction.

“These hills are haunted,” one man said, looking around him fearfully.

Harry tapped his shoulder, and he cried out, grabbing at the nearest person.

“Nonsense,” the woman from the shop said.

Harry tugged her hair. Harder than he had intended too, though he could not bring himself to feel guilty about that. She lashed out at him, and almost cuffed his ear.

“We would have seen a ghost. Even a poltergeist,” she continued. “This is a trick.”

“She’s right,” the Death Eater agreed, though their voice still sounded shaky. “We must be close.”

No. Harry wanted to shout at them. He’d been tugging and pushing them away from the tent, but now they turned. Started determinedly towards it. The Death Eater pulled out their wand, starting casting –

Harry grabbed it without thinking. Tried to yank it away, but the Death Eater was strong. They struggled with it, and he realised that if it fired, he would be in the way. He tried to push the wand upwards, just as the Death Eater yelled “reducto!”

He flung himself away – onto the grass – and heard the spell fire behind him. Felt the heat of it on his back. Remembered the cloak.

Someone called out. He rolled over, reaching for his wand.

Still covered. But his trainer had come off. It lay in the grass. Someone snatched it up, whilst the Death Eater searched for their assailant. His heart pounded.

“Excuse me – excuse me!” It was a new voice. A new person coming over the hill, waving an arm in the air. They ran, moving quickly. “Reporter coming through.”

“Reporter?” The woman from the shop patted her hair into place.

The other Death Eater was suspicious. “Reporter for what?”

The person – a young boy – had his hands on his knees as he fought to get his breath back. “The Quibbler.”

There was a titter at this, the situation frozen.

The boy looked up – Harry’s stomach jolted – because it was Colin Creevey. Blonde hair not quite so pale, face not as small and round. Still freckly, still with his camera around his neck, but not so short. His legs had grown out to give him a gazelle-like appearance.

There was no way that he was working for the Quibbler. Not now that they had turned on Harry too. No, he suspected that Colin was here because of Potterwatch. Because he had always followed Harry Potter around, so why should it be any different now?

“Heard that Harry Potter had been sighted,” Colin said. “Wanted to be the first to get a picture of his arrest.”

“How’ve you heard about that?” the second Death Eater asked.

“Blimey – is that a shoe?” Colin stepped forward to examine it. “Do you think it’s _his_ shoe?”

He took a picture of it. Several. Whilst the man who’d picked it up smiled smugly.

Harry got to his feet, careful of the invisibility cloak. He looked back to the tent, but he still could not see anything.

“Look here –” The second Death Eater grabbed Colin’s arm, tugging him away. “We don’t need any reporters.”

“Of course _you_ don’t need me,” Colin said, grinning. It made him look younger. “But the people do. _They_ need their news reported. As soon as it happens.”

There was murmuring and shrugging from the villagers. Harry drew his wand, feeling uneasy. Menace seemed to emanate from the Death Eaters.

“And they would be very interested to know, I’m sure, if you are going to hand Harry Potter over to the authorities, or to he-who-must-not-be-named.”

“We –” The Death Eater took out his own wand. “Are the authorities.”

Someone cried out. Harry pointed his wand – ready to fire – but was suddenly blinded by a bright light. Stunned, he stepped backwards, blinking stars from his vision.

It had been Colin’s camera. But not a normal flash. There was the thick smell of sulphur in the air, and those nearest to him were coated in ash.

In the chaos, Colin had slipped out of the man’s grasp. Backed away rapidly, and asked, “so you admit that the ministry is in league with he-who-must-not-be-named?”

The Death Eater did not answer. He fired, and it narrowly missed Colin’s ear. The villagers shrieked, backing away.

It had escalated all too quickly. The first Death Eater pulled their wand too.

Harry did not think. He ripped the cloak off and yelled, “don’t hit him!”

Everyone turned.

“Harry!” Colin called.

“That’s him!” The Death Eater turned, firing as they did so, and Harry cast protego. Watched it burst into a firework against the silvery shield.

The fight began. Colin finally drew his wand, casting quickly to keep up with the two Death Eaters. Distracting them from both aiming for Harry – since Colin was on the other side of the crowd, and could easily catch them from behind.

And the crowd itself was clearly dispersing, most of them not so comfortable with the realities of an arrest. They probably hadn’t even expected Harry to really be here.

The woman from the shop, however, stayed. Fired at Harry too, and he found himself quickly losing ground. A few of them had stayed back, casting carelessly.

“You always have to be the hero, don’t you?” Draco snapped. Was suddenly at his side, firing red at the woman. She hit the ground, rolled a few steps down the hill, and stilled.

Harry could only say, “I love you,” in an attempt to appease him, and heard Draco scoff his reply. They continued duelling the two other villagers, and the Death Eaters, but it was clear they were outnumbered.

If only they had –

He heard the familiar roar of an engine. The car.

A spell shot past his ear, and hit a villager.

“Sorry Harry!” Hermione’s voice yelled.

“Get in the car!” Ron bellowed.

Draco was running – behind them – so of course Harry had to hold his ground to cover them. He saw the blue car out of the corner of his eye, and, taking a breath, darted towards it. It was still rolling forwards – and Draco grabbed his hand to pull him in. A spell hit his trainer-less foot as he pulled it in, and it tingled painfully.

He glanced, and saw there was a cut across the sole. Fine. That was fine.

He turned himself around, holding the door open as the car continued. Started to get off the ground.

“Colin!” he yelled. “Grab my hand!”

Hermione helped to cover him, and Draco, leaning around Harry to get a clear shot. It wasn’t easy with the car rattling and jerking.

Colin turned his head back. Grinned. Eyes shining and cheeks flushed. Looked, for a moment, like the eleven-year-old boy who was over the moon to meet his hero, Harry Potter.

Harry reached out his hand as they passed – as Colin ran towards them – as the car started to take off in earnest.

The spell hit Colin’s back, just as his fingers curled around Harry’s wrist.

And all he could think was – thank fuck it wasn’t green.

Colin cried out. Harry tugged him in. Half squashed Draco, who was trying to help. Ron swore. Kept swearing as he pounded the invisibility booster. As a spell hit the back of the car and jerked them forward.

They were jerked back as Ron tilted the car up – made for the clouds – and they were out of sight, but Colin was limp in Harry’s arms. He struggled with him, to turn him upright. Found himself in the far corner of the car with Colin laid on his lap. Draco had eased round to sit between the two front seats, his face grave.

“Colin was hit,” Harry said. Heard his voice crack.

Colin looked dazed, blue eyes clouded. His skin was all but white, freckles standing out like a milky way.

“Is he okay?” Hermione asked.

As if in answer, Colin coughed. And his mouth was red. Harry propped him further up. “No.”

“What was he hit with?” she pressed. “Harry!”

“I don’t know. I don’t –”

“We have to land,” Draco said.

“Easier said than done,” Ron replied. “They’ll be watching the skies for us and the – fucking – invisibility booster –” He hit it again, but the car stayed solidly visible.

Colin coughed again, and Harry shushed him. Told him that it was okay – that he was with them – that he would be okay.

They drove, Ron smashing the invisibility booster every few seconds until it worked, which seemed to take forever to Harry, before they landed again. The middle of nowhere. No villages in sight.

They got Colin out of the car, and laid him on the grass. He groaned, but that seemed a good sign. Signalled that he was awake.

“Harry,” he said, blinking as he took him in. “Blimey, you’re okay.”

“Yes, I am.” Harry took a breath. “And you are too.”

"Don't think so." Colin grimaced. His hands were on his stomach. There was no blood. There was no blood, so he had to be okay. He had to be.

"How did you - how did you know where we were?" he asked.

Unbelievably, Colin smiled. “Potterwatch. That's who I'm with.” He paused, clearly struggling for breath. Harry held his head up, as though that would help. “We've – tapped the call in network for sightings of you –” Another pause. “Not many official ones – use portkeys. Can’t trace them.”

“That's brilliant.” Half of him thought so. The other half of him wished they wouldn’t. Wouldn’t try to help him, and wouldn’t send a child to do it.

“Isn’t it?” Colin looked pleased. “We wanted someone to be there – if you got arrested.” He shifted in Harry’s arms, and drew a sharp breath between his teeth. “To fight with you. Sorry I – got hit.”

“That's not your fault.” Harry’s voice was thick.

He thought of how he had distracted Colin. How the spell wouldn’t have hit him, if he hadn’t –

“It's not yours either, trouble.” Draco’s hand was on his shoulder. He knelt next to them. “It's the fault of the man who fired it.”

“But what?” Hermione knelt too, wand in one hand, her other hovering over Colin as though she could figure out the spell that way. “It must be - some sort of internal hex - or jinx.”

“Curse,” Draco said.

They kept talking, but Harry couldn’t focus. Just needed someone to come up with the solution. One of them had to make it right.

Colin’s shaking hand found his. “Harry – I'm sorry.”

“I said it’s not your fault.”

“No.” Colin tried to shake his head, but only dislodged a curl. Harry tucked it back into place. “For not being there. When you came out.”

“Colin.” He couldn’t believe that was what he was worried about. Couldn’t believe that he’d held onto it for so long. He would have laughed, but swallowed instead. “That doesn't matter.”

Another wave of pain seemed to go through Colin. His voice was weak as he continued, “You have to win.”

Harry had no idea how he would do that. Did not want to – could not – promise that he would.

“I will,” he said. Tried to sound like the hero Colin thought he was.

Colin tried to smile once more, but coughed instead. More blood. Harry wiped at it, his own hands trembling.

The boy’s voice was small. “I don’t think I want to die.”

“You won’t.”

“He will.” How could Draco be so callous? He moved closer, hair falling froward. “Your stomach feels like it’s being squeezed doesn't it?”

“Mm.” Colin gave a jerky nod.

“It's _vicera vulnus_.” Draco said. “Bastard spell.”

“How do you know that?” Hermione sounded shrill. Desperate.

“Because daddy left his spell books lying around. And I know that we don’t have the ingredients to reverse it.”

“Isn’t there a counter curse?” Her eyes shone with tears, but that was how Harry felt too.

“The books missed that bit.”

Colin’s fingers tightened. His breath rattled. “Harry – I don’t want to die.”

And Harry had no idea what to say. Wanted to be comforting. Wanted to tell him that he would be okay – but couldn’t. Couldn’t be – this.

“Colin,” was all he could say.

“I thought – it would be cool – but –”

Being a matyr. Dying for Harry. Cool. That was what he had been told.

“You were great,” he said, his voice breaking. He was sure that his cheeks were wet, and knew that would give him away. “You did – great, Colin.”

The boy’s face lit up. Eyes shone. He tried to smile again – overjoyed at the praise. At Harry’s praise. The Chosen One’s praise.

Then, he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): SO - I needed a death at this point in the story for reasons evident in the next chapter. I've been pretty transparent that fix-it doesn't mean nobody dies. Since no one died at Malfoy Manor - because Harry didn't have the mirror for Aberforth to see through, I put it here. Honestly, Dobby's death has always seemed like a cheap shot to me - he's bound to have an emotional death because he's 'the cute sidekick,' but there's no real reason for him to come back in Deathly Hallows...at all. It took me a while to decide on Colin, but as the fic has already talked about children/teenagers in war (with Aberforth), I thought it tied in well and it gives Harry a change of motivation.
> 
> Sorry I didn't update yesterday - I just straight up forgot it was Tuesday and I was meant to. (I even put out Harry Potter lego at work, so that's embarrassing.)
> 
> As always, thanks so much for all of the comments! I really do appreciate them and they are why I keep writing! If I don't reply, it's because I don't have anything to say other than 'thank you.' <3 xxx


	22. 22

Harry did not let go of Colin's body until it had turned cold. He sat in the grass, cradling him and wishing that he was thinking something admirable. How brave Colin was, or how to contact his family. Instead, he sobbed.

He could only think of the boy who'd followed him around. Treated him as though he was something wonderful, and how annoying that had been. How Harry should have been nicer. He would have been nicer, if that meant Colin wasn't ready to die for his approval.

Draco rubbed Harry's back. Sat in silence. Maybe didn't even remember who he was.

It was Ron who who told Hermione to stop panicking and wait in the car. He put his arm around Harry, ever so slowly easing him off the dead body and against him.

He continued crying for what seemed like hours. Until he had no voice and he could barely open his eyes. Ron still had hold of him - had gently shuffled them so that Colin's body was out of sight.

"We'll have to send a message to Potterwatch," Ron murmured, over his head. "So they can come and get the body."

"Easier said than done," Draco replied. "We have no idea where to send it."

"Aberforth," Harry croaked. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he had always trusted a Dumbledore.

They needed an adult. For the first time since starting out on this – quest – Harry desperately needed an adult.

Ron and Draco were muttering above him – “well, he is with the Order.”

“Close to Hogwarts. They’ll need to know.”

“Will they care?”

“He was Muggleborn,” Harry whispered into Ron’s jumper.

It meant no. No one at Hogwarts would care that Colin had left. That he had spent the last – month? – traipsing around the countryside, ready to stop an arrest. Fight. Get killed. Because he had wanted to die for Harry. To go out in glory. For the war.

He didn’t know when Colin’s birthday was. Didn’t know if he was sixteen yet. Did him being of age make it better?

“Right. We’ll send a Patronus to old Aberforth.” Ron did not sound sure himself. There was a terrible, knowing pause. Harry was the most skilled with Patronuses, but was in no fit state to conjure one. “I’ll – ask Hermione.”

He detached Harry from him, as though he was unhooking a monkey, and seemed to pass him over to Draco, whose arms were strong around him.

Harry couldn’t explain he’d never been close to Colin. That was why it hurt all the more.

A child had died for someone he thought was a hero. For the Chosen One.

It took a lot of convincing for Hermione to send the patronus. But she did.

Harry found himself in the car. Waiting for Members of the Order to pick up the body. It was Tonks. Ron and Hermione went out to greet them. He Didn’t.

Didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t believe Draco when he said it wasn’t his fault.

It was. If they had been more careful – if he hadn’t revealed himself – things would have been different. If they’d fought – four on four – things would have been different. They could have prevented Colin’s death.

Wasn’t it Harry’s job to save people? To save everyone?

The full moon came. He sat outside. Fell asleep in Draco’s fur. Still ate little. Slept more – much more – because when he was asleep the grief was not so strong. It was an escape – from everything – and he needed that.

He spent a long time thinking of Sirius and Lupin. Wondering if they were dead already, and he didn’t know. When would he find out? How could he find out? What if something worse had happened to them? Captured? Tortured? Because they were close to him. Had information on him.

It was driving him insane.

Whenever Potterwatch was turned on, he left the tent. They still camped in Scotland, moving every day. Hermione and Ron still looked into the diadem, searching for any clues. He wasn’t interested.

The full moon went.

Maybe it was that. That Draco felt better, that was the reason he said, “Harry, you need to pull it together.”

They sat around the table. Research notes Harry had not read everywhere.

“Draco’s right,” Hermione said. “I don’t know how you expect to win the war, when –”

“It’s like you don’t even care!” he snapped. Hadn’t realised that he felt angry – so angry with them – for moving on like it was nothing.

“Of course we care!” Hermione coloured. “It was devastating, what happened to – we’re sad _too,_ Harry. But – Ron’s mum was right when she said to mourn when the war is over. We have things to do, and we can’t do them with you – like this.”

The anger was there. In his temples. “Sad, you mean?”

“Like a ghoul,” Ron said. His hair was sticking up, and he looked pale. “It’s like you’re in a daze.”

“When was the last time you looked at me?” Draco’s voice was quiet.

“I am looking at you.”

“No.” Draco took hold of Harry’s head. Held it tightly. “ _Look_ at me.”

It was suddenly an effort. Felt like lifting a heavy stone on his shoulders just to meet Draco’s eyes. They stared back, grey eyes clouded with hurt.

“He died because of me,” Harry whispered.

Draco shook his head. Started to say, “ _mon dieu_ ,” but Hermione interrupted him –

“He knew the risks of –”

“No.” Harry pushed Draco’s hands away. Found himself standing. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t understand what it meant – what they truly expected of him. He was told that _dying_ like that was a good way to go – for the war!”

“What’s the difference?” Draco snapped. Stood too. Looked just as angry. “What’s the difference between him and us? A year? Maybe he didn’t understand, but I don’t think you understand what’s being asked of you either, Potter.” And he spat it. Like he used to. “You’ve never understood it. But you’ve always been led in to. What about the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I would have died to save Ginny!”

“You were twelve _fucking_ years old!”

“That’s different!” Harry’s throat was sore from shouting. “ _I’m_ different.”

“How?!”

“Because it’s _me_. I’m the reason she would have died. Riddle wanted me. I’m the reason everyone around us dies.” Harry gasped for breath. “I know they know the risks, but it’s not their choice. It doesn’t make any difference if they know that.”

It occurred to him, suddenly, what he had to do. He started forwards. “It’s not happening for me anymore.”

Draco’s wand pointed at him. Inches away from his chest.

Draco’s voice was a growl. “Don’t you leave my sight.”

“Stop me, then.” Harry’s skin itched. “Fucking stop me, Malfoy.”

They glared at each other. And Draco wouldn’t. Harry knew he wouldn’t. His wand tip was trembling.

Something heavy hit his shoulder. He stumbled sideways, clutching onto the bunk bed, in time to see Draco assaulted too.

It was Hermione. With a large book.

“For shit’s sake!” she snapped. “It’s all awful. All of this. Colin’s death was awful. The amount of times we’ve almost died in the last month alone have been awful. We know. The only reason we’ve all survived this long – that includes you, Draco – is because we’ve all been together. So _stop_ arguing. We’re the only ones who know how to end this, so let’s get _going_.”

They stood there, stunned. Harry’s shoulder throbbed.

Ron clapped.

Harry slowly sank down to sit on the edge of the bunk bed. He’d been sleeping on the top – since –

“What if –” His voice was raw, as though he had worn it out. “What if it’s one of you next?”

“And what if it’s you?” Draco replied. Wand at his side. Eyes burning.

“We’re _all_ at risk.” Hermione lowered her weapon too. “I’m muggleborn, Ron’s a blood traitor, and Draco’s –”

She hesitated.

Draco finished it for her. “A complete disgrace to his family’s name.”

“They’d happy kill any of us, but we’ve chosen to be killed with you. Not for you. With you.”

“I’d rather not die at all,” Ron said, and at Hermione’s glare, shrugged. “It’s true. I am actively trying not to die. I would hope Harry’s putting in the effort too.”

Harry wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. He took a breath. Because Ron was right. He should have been putting in that effort.

“I need some air.” His legs seemed to creak in protest as he stood. “I’m not – leaving – I just –”

“Air is good,” Hermione said. Reached out a hand as though to pat him on the shoulder, but then pulled away. “And tea. I’ll make tea.”

So Harry sat, looking over green hills with trees of fire dotted around them, with tea in a chipped mug.

He wasn’t the chosen one.

He never wanted to be. He’d only ever done what he thought was right, and usually only because adults did not listen to them. Destroying the Horcruxes, stopping Voldemort, was what was right. They were some of the few people who knew how. The others that did were busy – The Order, or the DA – so that left them.

Harry was going to win the war.

To stop any more Colin Creevey’s.

*

They disappeared. Still moved around every day, but now didn’t venture into town unless they had the invisibility cloak. Changed from buying food to fishing it out of supermarket skips – cans, mostly. Potterwatch soon lost track of them.

And they kept searching for any lead on the diadem, but could find nothing concrete. Only Albania and the Bloody Baron, who, even if he did speak to them, would have no idea where it was _now_. They were stuck – but Harry was not going to give up.

“This is worse, you know,” Draco said, when he woke in the night to find Harry poured over pinched library books. (Even Hermione had agreed that sometimes, needs must.)

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“This - fiery determination – it’s no better than when you were moping around.”

Harry shook his head. This didn’t leave him feeling empty all the time. It made him feel like he had a purpose. Like he could do _something_.

Draco took hold of Harry’s shoulders. Turned him from the book – caught his cheeks and turned his head too.

“Look at me, darling.”

He tried to remember what he had just read. “I am.”

Draco shook his head. His hair was loose, catching the light from his wand. “You’re not.”

“Babe, I have to –”

Harry tried to turn back, but Draco held him fast. Pressed his mouth against Harry’s and – when was the last time they had kissed? Properly? More than a brief peck good morning or goodnight?

Maybe a week or two, but all the same – he’d missed it. Missed Draco’s lips and tongue and how perfect they felt against his own. How warm he was.

“You have to take a break.” Draco’s breath was hot on his cheeks.

Harry kissed him again, open mouthed, tried to remember what it was he had been doing.

“Have to – find the –”

“You won’t if you die from exhaustion.” Draco climbed into Harry’s lap just as he tried to move. Settled himself there, and attacked his jaw with his lips. “It will be easier when you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

“This –” Harry slipped his hands underneath Draco’s shirt. Smiled because they were cold and made him flinch, pressing against Harry. “Isn’t making me want to sleep.”

He was all too aware of their hips pressed against each other. Of his mouth at Draco’s neck and how much he’d missed the smell of him. He pressed damp marks onto his pale skin and Draco sighed against him. Let him work his way down to his collarbone before he murmured to get into bed. Because it was too cold to pull his top off otherwise.

Harry was asleep the moment they lay down.

Thankfully, he woke to kisses, and the smell of bacon.

“Only a day out of date,” Ron said, when they found him at the fire. “Whole packs, just thrown away.”

“Brilliant.” Harry felt clearer than he had in a long time.

They ate, and returned to researching.

“Maybe one of the other ghosts knows something,” Harry suggested, as Hermione pulled out the books again. “Nick, or the Fat Friar.”

“But it doesn’t really matter,” Hermione said. “Unless they also know where it is now. Where would you-know-who hide something important?”

“He has the snake on him.” Ron flicked idly threw them as well. “Maybe he’s taken to wearing the tiara.”

The two of them snorted at the idea, but Draco glanced around, as though they would be overheard. With whatever taboo was in place, Harry could not blame him.

"He hid the cup with Bellatrix. Maybe the diadem is with another Death Eater?" Harry suggested. "Snape?"

"I don't think he ever trusted Snape. No one does," Draco said.

"But he killed -"

"An old and manipulative man."

They couldn't get into that. Not now.

"We're losing time." Harry thumped the book he was reading down in frustration. "It's what - Halloween next week?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "But we've done well. A horcrux a month -"

He shook his head. "This isn't some test. It doesn't matter if we've given it a good effort if we lose."

Ron frowned. "Look, we haven't lost yet."

"He wants to end it on Halloween." Harry hadn't even known that he'd thought that, but he knew it was true. "He started it then - that's it."

He opened his moleskin pouch and found the snitch. "I open at the close. What if this will open on Halloween?"

Draco held out his hand for it, and Harry passed it over. Watched it turn in Draco's pale fingers.

"Even if it does," he said, slowly. "What good will it do? If its such a gamechanger, why hold it back until then?"

Harry shrugged. "Showmanship?"

"Probably." Draco rolled his eyes. Rolled the snitch once more, then pressed his lips against it. It, predictably, did not do anything, but a shiver ran down Harry's spine. When he got the snitch back, there was condensation in the shape of a mouth.

"Hogwarts is our best bet," Ron said, ears red. "We should go for it. Might even be able to get Dumbledore's wand before you-know-who does. It'd be pretty helpful if its really unbeatable."

They hadn't any other leads, and so it was begrudgingly agreed they would make for the school. It still didn't sit well with Harry. He had the distinct feeling that once they went there, there would be no going back. It would be the end to all of this.

Even though he didn't relish camping, he preferred it to whatever was ahead.

The journey, at least, was easier said than done. Dementors were out earlier, and stayed patrolling until late into the morning. It made it harder to get food. There were less villages that seemed safe to stop at, and they seemed to make little progress day to day.

It was the air of finality that made Harry Potter irrecoverably obsessed with Draco Malfoy. More than he had since they had set out on this quest.

They retreated to the car, which was less than comfortable, but had no friends moaning about public displays of affections. No squeals at an inch of revealed skin. Because, despite the cold, Harry felt as though he was burning around Draco.

“What did you want to do?” Draco asked, voice soft and tired as they lay in the back seat, shirts discarded, zippers open. “After Hogwarts?”

Harry paused, mouth over Draco’s chest. “I wanted to be an auror.”

Draco snorted.

“What? I did.” He rested his chin on his hands, crossing them over Draco’s chest to see him better, his fingers ghosting up Draco’s sides and making him shiver.

He combed his fingers through Harry’s hair, cheeks still flushed. “I don’t think you’d make a very good auror.”

“Don’t aurors do what we’re doing now?”

“Aurors –” Draco wrapped his legs around Harry’s, still toying with his hair. “See people die. The ones – father – knew were always talking about it. Always complaining about the paperwork, but that was because it was easier to focus on that – the part they could control – rather than living with guilt.”

He only hesitated slightly when mentioning Lucius. Harry pressed kisses to Draco’s collarbone to make up for it, and saw his lips curl upwards.

“I want to be an auror,” Harry said. “I mean – look at Tonks, Mad-Eye – Kingsley –”

“So, _mon ange_ , think about what was happening when they became aurors. Think about what it was like when Tonks was at Hogwarts.”

The first wizarding war. The direct aftermath of the boy who lived. Of course Moody and Shacklebolt would have remained aurors, when there were so many Death Eaters still in the Ministry. Of course becoming an auror would have appealed to Tonks – a chance to fight again if there was ever anything like it.

Now there was.

“And, babe, think about what’s happening now,” Harry said. “The Ministry will need aurors.”

“You really want to work for the ministry after this?” Draco adjusted Harry’s glasses. “They folded like cards.”

“But the Order is still fighting.”

“Not because it’s their job.” Harry rose and fell with Draco’s chest as he sighed. “Shit, Weasley’s mum is fighting, Potter. You don’t have to be an auror to do that.”

He fell quiet. Traced a shape on the skin of Draco’s shoulder. There were a dozen small, red marks there. Not from him. Mostly likely from Lupin or Sirius to stop him hurting anyone.

“What did _you_ want to do, then?” he asked. Peppered the red marks with his mouth as though that would make them disappear.

“Sit back and inherit Daddy’s money.” Draco’s fingers trailed up Harry’s spine, and his breath caught. Leant closer into Draco and his warmth.

“Are you serious?” Harry did not know whether to laugh or not.

“Mostly. Mostly I just said it to piss Umbridge off. She sat in on my careers talk.”

“Mine too.” Harry toyed with blonde strands that looked white gold in the morning light. “Kept clearing her throat until McGonagall offered her a cough drop.”

He smirked at the memory, feeling a pang of longing for Professor McGonagall, as stern as she was.

Draco’s hands found Harry’s waistband. “Snape took mine.”

“How did that go?”

“He said that the teaching set backs of this year would not restrict me in whatever I wanted to do, and that really, it was no concern of his, anyway.”

Which, directed at Umbridge, would have been hilarious.

“But I thought he liked you.”

Draco’s stomach touched Harry’s as he gave another sigh. “He did. Until he found out I was a poof.”

“I’m sorry.” It was probably Harry’s fault. He’d slipped in an occlumency lesson, and Snape had found out about that first kiss in the rain.

Draco shook his head – maybe just to kiss Harry’s temple. “I didn’t know. Still – don’t know – what to do if we both live. Don’t much fancy the Ministry anymore.”

“Play Quidditch?” Harry suggested, tugging at Draco’s earlobe with his teeth.

“A gay Quidditch player? That’ll go down well.” He kissed Harry’s neck, as though to soothe the knot in his stomach at that. “You could teach.”

He cringed. “I don’t think so.”

“Didn’t you have your little group in fifth year?”

“Yeah, and half the time it was – Harry, how did you get the Philosopher’s stone, Harry, how tell us more about the tasks in the Triwizard Tournament. I don’t want to spend half my time acting like Lockheart.”

“Well –” Draco pulled away, to kiss Harry’s mouth. The top of both their mouths were sore from kissing against stubble so often. “You’re better looking than Lockheart, for one thing.”

Harry scoffed, but wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to explore Draco’s mouth for the countless time. They stayed, completely entwined, until it came to him.

“I’ve got it.” He brushed Draco’s hair from his face. “A shop. We’ll start of a shop.”

“Of what?” Draco caught his fingers, tangling them with his own.

“Whatever. Books. We’ll give it a name that links to the full moon.” He kissed him, giddy at the fantasy his mind was racing to create. A tidy bookshop in Diagon Alley. Snogging behind the counter, living in an apartment above it. Safe. Alive. “It’ll be no more obvious than having the last name Lupin.”

Draco chuckled. “The gay little bookshop.”

“No one would think of going to Flourish and Botts again.”

They were both laughing, though Harry could not explain why it was funny. Draco turned them, so that he was above Harry, kissing him roughly. Entwining both their hands and pinning them either side of Harry. It gave him a pang of feeling helpless – trapped – but then – that was very much the case.

“I fucking love you,” he whispered, because if he didn’t, he was sure that his chest would explode. The sun hit Draco through the window, made it look like he was glowing – made him look like, “my angel.”

Draco leant down, slowly, because he must have seen how desperate Harry was to kiss him. Stayed just an inch away from his mouth.

“The feeling is completely mutual.”

He gifted the kiss to Harry.

The gay little bookshop was a complete daydream. One that made him feel completely and utterly calm – content. They were idealising it, he knew that. Knew that running a shop was hard and they would need customers – need to serve the customers instead of canoodling in the aisles. Needed money to eat and afford rent.

Knew that if they were so open about their relationship they’d no doubt wake up to broken windows and graffiti.

But, for now, he was happy to have it as a fantasy. Something to think about to get him through the drizzly grey days and cold nights, as they continued slowly to the Hogwarts castle. A future where they both came back safe, and whole, and unburdened by anything they had been through, or where about to go through.

Even if they all got through this, Harry knew he was sure his mind would have a few new nightmares to add to its repertoire afterwards.

It was the twenty-ninth when they reached the outskirts of the Hogwarts grounds. Halloween, and the full moon, were looming.

There was only a sip of wolfsbane left.

"We could go to Hogsmede," Harry said. "And buy some more."

They sat on the hill that faced the castle. It was a black silhouette, lit with tiny, yellow lights. A miniature night sky.

"With what money?" Hermione asked.

Diagon Alley was not an option. Everywhere was on high alert for them. As if to reinforce that fact, Dementors flew over them, on the way to Hogsmede. Their patronuses formed a silvery line between them. He watched the swan follow the stag, and smiled.

He shrugged. "Could steal it, then."

“Could ask Aberforth,” Ron said. “He’s right near there, and he likes Draco, doesn’t he?”

“He tolerates me.” Draco put Harry’s arm around his shoulders, pressing closer in the chill. “Which is about as much as he likes anyone.”

“Won’t that make him look suspicious?” Hermione pressed against Ron, but he did not take the hint. He was staring at the castle, expression unreadable.

Draco laughed. It was easier to, now the Dementors had passed. “Not for him.”

“Marshmallows,” Ron said, suddenly.

They stared. He stared back, as though he didn’t understand the confusion.

“We should roast marshmallows,” he explained. “There’s a pack left in Hermione’s bag. It’ll make us feel better, after the Dementors. It’s what Lupin would do – all the werewolf talk made me think of him.”

It was true. There had been lots of chocolate bars shared the Summer that Harry and Draco spent at Grimmauld Place. A lot of hot chocolate too.

A lot of sleepless nights, hearing howls and growls from the basement.

“You’re right,” Harry said. “Let’s do it.”

Maybe they all felt that same foreboding he did. They sat, shoulder to shoulder, roasting marshmallows over a small, blue fire and looking at their school.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Hermione asked. “This was meant to be our final year. Do you think we’ll ever go back?”

“Could be back after Christmas.” Ron’s outlook was optimistic. He handed Hermione his marshmallow, without meeting her eye.

“Not if Snape’s in charge.” Harry examined his own. He had left it over the flames too long. “Wouldn’t be much of a final year.”

“But we haven’t really had the chance to say goodbye.” The lights seemed to shine in Hermione’s eyes.

They hadn’t. But maybe that was for the best. Harry thought that it was easier to not know when things were final. That made it sad. Put pressure on to make the farewell a good, meaningful one.

And they were back now. If this was the end, he did not want to know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): The author's note I left on this chapter was 'Harry's fantasy is that one scene from Atonement,' and I still find myself funny like two weeks later.
> 
> As much as this chapter was to fill time to get to Halloween, it was also Harry's decision chapter - deciding that he wants to fight, as opposed to feeling like he had to. Colin's death was very much the catalyst for that in a way Dobby's death could have been..
> 
> I'm hoping to finish this fic this week, and it's honestly weird getting ready to wrap it all up after so long..
> 
> Thanks so much, as always, for all of the comments! They really keep me going and writing, and it's wonderful to see reactions every week! If I don't reply, it's because I can only say 'thank you!!!' <3 
> 
> The showdown begins next week... > > xxx


	23. 23

Ron and Hermione took the car back to the Forbidden Forest, in case they needed a quick getaway, again. Harry and Draco made their way into Hogsmede, Harry used the invisibility cloak, and Draco using a hood and scarf to hide everything but his grey eyes.

They had headed off at lunchtime, when the Hog’s Head would be empty, but the streets were deserted anyway. Hogsmede was never so quiet, and seeing it as such sent chills up Harry’s spine. S

Aberforth was not happy to see them.

“Bloody stupid risk!” he snapped, though he did let Draco through the door. “Do you know how many times I’ve been investigated since the last time you squatted here? Lost a hell of a lot of dosh giving all those sods free Fire Whiskey to turn them away.”

“Do you know how many times we’ve almost died?” Harry replied, taking the cloak off.

Aberforth huffed. Looked at him with those eyes that were so like Dumbledore’s.

“Still fixed on your fool’s errand, then?”

“It’s the only way to stop the war,” Harry replied, and at Aberforth’s snort, straightened. Added, “I will not stand by and let bad things happen to good people, when I know that I can stop it.”

That made the man pause. He looked over Harry, almost calculatingly, whilst Harry glared back.

“You’ve grown up, since we last met.”

He was not sure what to say to that. Was not sure whether it was a compliment or not.

“We need to use your tunnel,” he said, instead.

Aberforth let them, still slightly begrudging. They passed through the passage, carrying the invisibility cloak. He tried not to feel like a lamb heading to the slaughterhouse.

There was no way Voldemort would know they were coming. No way for him to know they were after the diadem, he told himself. His Occlumency was competent enough for that.

Luna greeted them. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

More hammocks had appeared in the Room of Requirement since the last time they had arrived. It made strangely cosy, with empty mugs and blankets strewn around the room. Harry tried to take in the other faces – Neville, Pavarti Patil, Seamus, Cho, Antony Goldstein, Michael Corner –

“Ginny.” He grinned at her.

She grinned back. Moments before she smothered him in a tight hug.

“How are things?” he asked. Raised his eyebrows so that she would know he meant her relationship with Luna.

Her freckled cheeks turned bright pink, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Good. Well, it wasn’t, a few weeks ago, but now – good.”

She stepped back, and Harry noticed Luna’s hand lace into hers. That made him smile all the more – he felt strangely like a proud Uncle. It had taken them a while, but it looked as though Ginny and Luna were finally happy together.

“What do you mean?” Neville asked. “Things have been shit.”

And now that Harry looked, he noticed Michael Corner had a split lip – a bruise on his temple – and pointedly kept one foot off the floor. Parvati was cradling her arm to her chest, whilst Neville’s nose looked distinctly swollen.

“What’s been happening?” he asked.

“The Carrows!” Anthony Goldstein cried. “They’ve taken over the school. Forget the defence bit, they’re straight up teaching Dark Arts.”

“They tried to make us use the Cruciatus curse on first years last week,” Parvati said.

“And you became the target if you refused.” Cho’s voice was quiet.

“They tortured Michael for releasing a second year they had chained up in the dungeons,” Anthony continued. “And that’s what they gave Neville for asking how much muggle blood they had between them.”

Neville shrugged. “You wouldn’t have tolerated it, either, Harry. Alecto – that’s the sister – was telling us all about how Muggles were like animals – stupid and dirty and slow – that they’re evil and used the poison sacs under their tongues to drive wizards into hiding. And some of the younger kids _believe_ that.”

“Snape’s letting this happen?” Draco asked, brows furrowed.

Anthony Goldstein snorted. “As if that’s a surprise to Snape’s golden boy.”

Draco glared.

It was, actually. Harry knew that Snape was a git. That he was bitter, callous and cold – but he did not think that he would allow that to happen. Not torture. That was too far, even for Snape.

“He’s not stopping it,” Neville said. “But he’s well peeved that we keep going out at night, painting graffiti – Fred and George’s stuff is great – stuff like ‘Dumbledore’s Army, still recruiting.’”

They all grinned. Harry’s stomach turned when he noticed they were expectant.

“Of course,” Seamus said. “Now that you’re here, things’ll be different.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Well – you’re here to lead the uprising, aren’t you? I know there’s not many of us here now, but loads of kids will stand with you –”

He stopped short, as Harry shook his head. The pause grew awkward, stretching between them like a canyon.

“We’re not – we’re not here to lead any kind of uprising,” he said.

Neville’s face fell. “You’re not back just to poke around the Chamber of Secrets again?”

They were all carrying basilisk fangs. Harry shook his head again. “We’re looking for Ravenclaw’s Diadem.”

All of them stared as though he had declared they were searching for the Loch Ness Monster.

“The school’s being turned into a Death Eater training camp, and you’re looking for a musty old tiara?!” Michael snapped. Cho and Parvati raised their eyebrows, exchanging glances with each other, and even Ginny looked doubtful.

“It could help us win the war,” Harry continued. Felt Draco’s hand on the small of his back to give him the courage to sound like he knew what he was doing.

“What, like – make you smart enough to defeat you-know-who?” Parvati asked. She was smirking, clearly delighting in the idea of Harry wearing a tiara.

“No, we’re going to destroy it.”

Another astonished pause.

Cho Chang spoke slowly, with barely supressed rage. “You want us to help you find a priceless artefact so that you can destroy it?”

“Tell them what it is,” Draco murmured.

Dumbledore had warned Harry not to reveal the truth about the horcruxes. But he had already told so many, and he could not blindly trust that man's vague warnings any longer. Not after knowing the truth about him.

So he explained. The room still looked incredulous and astonished, as though they barely believed him. Horcruxes, after all, we very rare and dark magic.

"We think the Bloody Baron knows more," Harry continued. "Is there any other ghost that he's particularly close to? That he might have told?"

They all shook their heads.

“I know who he avoids.” Michael Corner raised his eyebrows dramatically. “The Grey Lady.”

Draco elbowed Harry. Too hard. He wanted to turn and snap that he didn’t need the hint. That the two must have been linked, and that could mean –

Was it so simple?

Michael continued, “They're always glaring at each other over the Great Hall.”

“Is it glaring?” Luna asked. She and Ginny sat on one of the hammocks. Closer than usual. “There seems to be - something underneath that.”

She looked at Harry and Draco pointedly. Not to suggest that there was a deep history between the two ghosts, but to say it was similar to them.

Harry blushed, and changed the subject. “Where is the Grey Lady?”

“She haunts Ravenclaw Tower, mostly,” Cho said.

“Right. We'll go there.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Everyone would be back to lessons by now, so the corridors should be empty. Still, after last time, they couldn’t guarantee it.

“We'll just have to squash up under the cloak.” It was not the most elegant plan, but every second felt as though it counted.

“Oh?” Draco smirked. “I can’t say no to that plan.”

Cho offered to take them, and they followed her out of the Room of Requirement. It came out on the Fifth floor – they could tell by the portrait of Timothy the Timid, and the distant sounds of a music class.

Draco had an arm wrapped around Harry’s waist, walking just behind so that he could rest his chin on his shoulder. He probably did not need to be that close, but Harry was not about to tell him no. Partly because, now that they were alone, it was incredibly awkward to be with Cho Chang.

All Harry could think about was their date. The one where he had spurted out ‘I’m gay,’ ungraciously,

“We’ve been listening to Potterwatch,” Cho said, into the quiet.

“O – oh?”

“We told Colin to stay with us in the Room of Requirement. That’s where Dennis stays.”

Shit. That was another conversation Harry did not want to have. He stayed quiet. Draco’s arm tightened around him. They came to the foot of a spiral staircase.

“Colin –“ Harry managed. “It was his choice to leave. Nothing would have changed his mind.”

He knew that was true. Regretted that it came to the end it did. Still held accountability for the end, but knew there was nothing he could have done to stop Colin appearing there.

“And Cedric?” Cho glanced over her shoulder. Not quite cold towards him, but no longer warm, either. “Was it his choice?”

“Don’t.” Harry’s voice turned the same. It was difficult, navigating the stairs with the two of them under the cloak, and the thought of Cedric had made his chest ache. “I was the one who suggested taking the cup together. He told me just to claim it. And there’s not a day I don’t regret doing that. So don’t.”

They reached the top of the stairs. He was panting, maybe from the hard climb – perhaps from the realisation Cedric’s death was not his fault. He had not known. He had been trying to do the right thing. The only way Cedric wouldn’t have died would be if Harry had been selfish.

Cho stared at the door ahead of them, expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It wasn’t for bringing it up.

The door sported an impressive bronze eagle head, but no knocker. It sprung to life, its voice as loud as a thunderclap in the silence, “Which came first, the Phoenix or the egg?”

It was a far cry from the Fat Lady asking for a password, and Harry did not know what to say.

“There is no way to determine the beginning of such a cycle,” Cho said, unfazed.

“Basic reasoning, but it shall suffice.” The door swung open.

Cho rolled her eyes. “It’s been using that one since first year, but expects us to come up with clever answers each time?”

Something had thawed between them, and Harry found himself laughing.

“What happens if you get it wrong?” he asked, as they stepped in.

“Wait for someone to get it right?” Cho replied, with a small smile. “Or – try again.”

The Ravenclaw Common Room seemed larger than the Gryffindor one. But maybe it was because there were less large sofas, and more wooden benches at tables where a small collection of students were studying. Less woven tapestries, and more high arched windows that gave a fantastic view of the cloudy sky and almost lilac-tinged mountains surrounding them. The deep blue rug was patterned with stars, which explained why Ravenclaw were generally the best house at astrology.

Set into a wall was a marble statue of a woman. He knew her well after months of seeing her portrait printed into books. Rowena Ravenclaw. Half-smiling. Wearing a stone version of the diadem.

The students looked up. They were young, first or second years.

“Cho?” One asked, puzzled. “Who were you talking to?”

She did not miss a beat. “The door.”

Draco snigged in Harry’s ear. He elbowed him to shut him up.

“Didn’t sound like the door,” another muttered.

“Carrow told us to tell if we saw you,” said the first. “Said she wanted to speak to you.”

Cho paused this time. “You won’t tell her though, will you?”

“Tell me what?”

The voice was cold and clear. It came from behind them.

Harry and Draco turned in a muddle, making it out if the way just in time to see Alecto Carrow at the doorway of the Ravenclaw Common Room.

She was not dissimilar to Mrs Weasley - short and stocky - but where it gave Molly a motherly appearance, it made Alecto look like an athlete.

"I was just about to assist the second years with their muggle studies homework." She stepped forward, causing Harry and Draco to shuffle backwards, tripping over each other. "I'm glad that I ran into you, Miss Chang.” She softened, and it reminded Harry of Dolores Umbridge. A sickly sweetness that pretended to care – a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Your absence is cause for concern.”

Cho went pale. Her eyes flicked around the room. Looking for wherever Harry was.

“I assumed that you had left the castle,” Alecto continued. “Since you haven’t – that will be a month’s worth of detention.”

Harry felt helpless, itching to step forward, as Cho stared back at her, trying to seem defiant. Alecto got close to her, her voice dropping as she whispered, “Professor Umbridge’s detentions will seem like a picnic in comparison to mine, sweetheart.”

He reached for his wand, but his hand was stopped by Draco gripping his wrist so tightly it hurt.

“Don’t,” Draco whispered in his ear.

And Harry knew that being noticed would mean game over. But he could not stand by and let his friend be bullied.

“Who said that?” Alecto had heard. She whipped around, only to find the second years staring back at her with wide eyes. Some looked as though they were shaking, the rest huddled together, silent. “And all of you will be in detention too, unless you tell me what she was doing here!”

Her voice was shrill, and the twelve year olds recoiled into each other.

So Harry could not blame whichever one it was for saying, “she was talking to someone, but – but we couldn’t see anyone else.”

“Is that true?” Alecto demanded. She grabbed Cho’s arm, and she cried out, but kept her lips pursed shut. Harry thought of what happened to Marietta Edgecombe, and was sure it was on her mind as well. “Come on, speak up!” She waited again. “Fine then. I’ll take you to Filch. He’s been enjoying carrying out the old punishments.”

Alecto began to drag Cho back towards the door.

“No.”

Everyone froze at the voice. Harry could have pretended to be a ghost, but it did not work out well the last time. Draco’s nails dug into him; a plead to stay hidden.

He tore off the cloak.

There were gasps and murmurs from the second years. A murmured “for fuck’s sake,” from Draco. Alecto’s face morphed into one of comical shock at his appearance, which in turn dissolved into a hungry grin.

“ _Potter_.” She cast Cho aside – she stumbled to Harry, and clutched his other arm, as though he could protect her – in favour of pulling her sleeve back to reveal the Dark Mark.

Her finger was millimetres away from it when she froze.

Harry’s scar prickled. He realised the same thing she had.

“The Dark Lord is already coming! He’s on his way!”

Which, of course, incited panic among the second years. A loud crack burst through the terrified babbling.

Alecto fell back, missed the rug so that her head hit the stone floor with a sickening thud.

“I only meant to stun her,” Cho said, wand raised.

There was a heavy silence. Harry’s scar gave a dull throb. There was a presence at the back of his mind, probing like a hand. He pushed it away.

“Did you – did you kill her?” one of the second years squeaked.

“She’s only stunned,” Harry said. Tried to sound reassuring, and like he had a plan.

“She was joking – about you-know-who, wasn’t she?”

There was thudding at the door – “Alecto! Merlin’s sake, open up! He’s coming – he’s coming!”

Harry shook his head at the second year.

Draco had hold of the cloak. He looked exasperated. “Is there any point using this?”

“Sorry.” Harry tried to cut through the panic in his chest. “I just –”

“I know.” Draco’s eyes softened. He held the cloak over an arm. “You’re just a stupid Gryffindor.”

Harry pecked him on the lips. Was so used to kissing Draco in the tent and was surprised at the gasps behind them at that.

The thudding at the door continued. More frantic, more furious.

“We need to gather everyone in the Great Hall,” Harry said. “Find them a way out of here, before he arrives.”

“Simple,” Draco replied.

“They can use the Room of Requirement,” Cho said. She did not quite meet Harry’s eye. “It will grow to fit all of them.”

“Brilliant,” he said, then turned to the second years. “Cho’s going to take you all to a safe place, whilst we – sort this out.”

“Are you going to kill you-know-who?” one asked.

Fuck. Harry was meant to do that, wasn’t he? Kill.

“I’m going to keep Hogwarts safe before anything else,” he replied, at the same moment Draco, unapologetically, said, “yes, he is.”

They headed to the door whilst Cho gathered the second years up. Swung it open to reveal Alecto’s twin. Stunned him. Dragged him inside for the children to step over – which they did almost gleefully – on their way out.

The group headed down the corridor, trying to move as quietly as they could. And made it all the way to the Grand Staircase, before any further trouble happened.

Minerva McGonagall, however, was coming down the Grand Staircase.

They froze. So did she.

Then, “Potter! It is absolutely foolish of you to be here!”

“Sorry Professor.” It came out before he could stop it. “But – we need to find Ravenclaw’s Diadem – but Riddle is coming, and we have to get everyone to –”

She held up a hand to stop him.

"Voldemort is coming here?"

There were gasps at the name, the second years huddling further together.

"If he is coming, then saying his name will not make a difference," McGonagall snapped at them.

"Exactly what I would expect from you, _Professor."_

It was Snape. Coming out of the fourth floor corridor. They were trapped, an enraged McGonagall on the landing above them, Snape on the one below. Both were holding a wand. It would be a fantastic time for the staircases to change.

Harry held out a hand to push the second years out of harm's way. It caught Snape's attention, and his beetle-like eyes turned to him.

"Potter." His lip curled. "The Dark Lord will be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

Harry's mind whirred. Voldemort wasn't coming because he was here? Then what -

"The wand," Draco said, in a low voice. "He's coming for the wand."

"Bellatrix said you were looking…well, Malfoy." It was not quite a goad.

"Better than her, I’m sure," Draco shot back. Still did not have as much of a bite. It was more banter than harsh words.

"And what are you doing, Severus?" McGonagall asked. "You're so rarely seen out of your office nowadays."

"I was alerted -" Snape touched the billowing sleeve of his robe, with his forefinger. Harry caught a second year's collar to stop them from getting back the doorway to look. "To the Dark Lord's imminent arrival."

"And decided to round up and defend the students?"

"Naturally. But now that Potter is here -"

McGonagall moved faster than Harry would have thought possible.

Yet, Snape already had a silvery shield coming out of his wand. Sparks burst across it like a firework. Snape flicked his wand, forming the shield into a large serpent – McGonagall shattered it into pieces.

Harry had half a mind to curse Snape whilst he was not looking, but it was more sensible to cast a shield charm, to protect the second years. They watched, in awe, as McGonagall summoned a torch from its scone. It flung bodily towards Snape.

He cast it away. It smashed against a moving staircase with a heavy thud, falling down and crashing against the flagstones at the bottom of the hall. He took the flames, sending them McGonagall’s way – Harry felt the heat on his cheeks. She turned it to water. Sent it back. For a brief moment, it looked like a dragon.

“Minerva!” It was Professor Flitwick, running up the stairs from the third floor. He took in the scene. Raised his own wand. “No more murder at Hogwarts.”

There was a second full of ominous clanking, as Snape stepped against the bannister and prepared to fight the both of them. Then, a suit of armour came barrelling up the stairs like a rugby player, clearly intent on restraining Snape.

He went over the side.

The second years cried out. Harry rushed forward with Draco – to stop him, he thought – to see Snape float graciously to the ground. He began running, in the direction of the front door, whilst McGonagall yelled “ _coward_!” after him.

Silence settled over them all. More students were out of class now, peering over the landings at what was happening below.

McGonagall pressed her wand to her throat, and her voice seemed to echo throughout the whole school. “Our headmaster is taking a short break. As Deputy, I shall be organising the castle, and require everyone to arrive in the Great Hall promptly.” Her volume returned to normal as she turned to Harry. “We shall protect the castle, Potter – if you continue –”

“We need to talk to the Grey Lady,” he said. Suspected that even directing him away from the Great Hall would not hide his presence. The Second Years would spread it like wildfire. “Ron and Hermione – they’re in the forest –”

“I shall send a message.” Already a patronus was spouting from her wand.

Cho took his arm. “Harry – the Grey Lady’s at the end of the hall. She can never resist drama.”

He glanced behind him to see a silvery figure. “Great. You get the rest of the DA. We’ll – meet you down there.”

She nodded, rushing up the stairs against the throng of students the teachers were trying to calmly herd down. It was like pushing startled cattle.

Draco was already starting down the corridor, and he rushed to follow.

The Grey Lady watched them, hands folded in front of her. Her hood was drawn to shadow her face, though waist length hair fell from either side of her neck. Harry realised that he’d passed her several times in the hallway through the years, but had never spoken to her.

“The great Harry Potter wants to see me?” she asked. Haughty and proud. He had the impression that she was looking over their heads to the commotion.

“Please don’t be like that,” he said. “We’re all on the same side.”

“And he’s not that _great_ , really,” Draco added.

“We’re looking for Ravenclaw’s Diadem.”

“Then I can’t help you.” Her response was quick, sharp, and to add insult to injury, she floated through him. It was like being dunked in an ice box, and he shivered.

She was almost at the staircase already, and Harry thought desperately of something to say that would make her stop.

“Then we’ll ask the Bloody Baron instead,” he called after her.

She halted. Laughed. “I would never show that fool where it was hidden. Alive or dead.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other as it all clicked into place.

“You’re Helena Ravenclaw.”

She gave a rattling sigh. Then, as though in slow-motion, lowered her hood. When she turned, he recognised her from the portraits. From how closely she resembled Rowena. She floated back to them.

“I was.”

Harry fumbled again. Tried to think of a polite way to phrase the question of if she stole the diadem.

“And I doubt the diadem will help you win this battle,” she continued. Beautiful, even in her disdain.

“That’s not why we’re looking for it,” Harry said.

“Look,” Draco said. Folded his arms. “Between the two of us, we know a think or two about having famous parents and parents that put a lot of pressure on you. We’d more than understand if you felt pressured to borrow the diadem for a bit.”

“That’s exactly what _he_ said.” The Grey Lady turned away, translucent cheeks a darker shade of silver. “He used flattery and kind words until I told him.”

“Who?” Harry asked. “ _Dumbledore_?”

Draco elbowed him, frowning.

“A student.” The Grey Lady’s voice was barely a whisper. “A boy. Your age. The one who’s name they are no afraid to speak.”

Tom Riddle. It was too much of a coincidence that he hid in Albania, and that was where the diadem was rumoured to be. If he had been there before, knew, at least, that it was secluded and hidden, of course he would have chosen to seek refuge there when Harry had defeated him, the first time.

“Did he ever come back with it?” Harry asked. Hoped the answer would be yes, because they were not getting out of the castle tonight.

“Once.” The Grey Lady’s face hardened. She looked over them, wrapping her arms around herself. “He had changed. He looked straight through me, as though I couldn’t sense it with him – kenw that he had it, and that I could – that it would make things right, if he gave it to me.”

“You did take it,” Draco said, voice gentle.

She nodded, looking distraught.

“At least –” She tried to regain her composure. “He did not leave with it. It’s back at Hogwarts. Where it should be.”

It was in the castle. They had a chance.

The problem was – they had a lot of castle to search.

Draco realised the same thing. As they thanked and apologised to The Tragic Grey Lady, and headed back down the corridor, he looked helplessly at Harry.

“Only eight floors and several secret passageways to search,” he said. “If you were going to hide something here, where would you put it?”

“The Room of Requirement,” Harry said, without thinking.

He stopped. Because he had hidden things there. A few times now. And he did remember _a_ tiara. Remembered putting it on an old bust.

“I think…” he murmured. “That I’ve already found it once.”

A row of suits of armour walked past them at attention, and there was a loud crash from below.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Then let’s hope you can find it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): The battle of Hogwarts is so bitty and I feel like this chapter doesn't make a dent in it. BUT - I think I'm going to update Tuesdays and Fridays until the battle is over, so that the cliffhangers aren't so painful. I've also tried not to be too mean with the cut-off points.
> 
> Thanks so much for all of the kind words, as always! I really do appreciate them and it's what's gotten me through writing all of this fic!! If I don't reply, it's just because I can't say much other than 'thank you!!! <3' xxx


	24. 24

Draco didn't want to waste time - wanted to go to the Room of Requirement immediately.

And even if Harry agreed whole-heartedly, the hallways were too jammed full of students and teachers, it would be impossible. If they tried wearing the cloak, they would be trampled and squashed.

It was easier to go downstairs too, ducking his head so that less people asked, “is that Harry Potter?”, “I’m sure that was Harry Potter!”

Harry Potter, who had been sneaking into the back of pubs to wash his face in the sink, who was wearing a jumper with a string of holes down one side, who’s trainers were still in tact by a thread and a wish.

Some chosen one.

Hermione hugged them – both of them – at the doorway of the Great Hall. Harry found that being smothered by her hair was comforting, actually, when they might not see the next morning.

“We saw a dark shape fleeing from the castle,” she said. “And when we saw McGonagall, she said Snape was gone.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Well – I wouldn’t want to fight McGonagall, either.”

“Bloody hell.” Ron patted Harry’s shoulder, by way of greeting. “I’m surprised he’s even alive.”

They were attracting attention, so slipped into the Great Hall. The DA had taken up residence at the Gryffindor table. They chose to sat there, where their dishevelled appearances weren’t out of place. Harry told Hermione what they had learnt, but before she could reply, McGonagall’s voice cut through the panicked chatter.

“Some of you may have been told,” she started, looking pointedly at where the second year Ravenclaws were huddled. “That Lord Voldemort is preparing an attack on the school. Unfortunately, Professor Snape seemed to confirm this, when he showed his true colours by leaving the school.”

Chaos threatened to rise again, everyone whispering nervously, but fell at the sound of McGonagall clearing her throat.

“We are placing defences over the school, and will prepare an evacuation with due haste. Reinforcements are on their way, but it is important to stay calm.”

Unfortunately, a cold, clear voice drowned out McGonagall’s advice. A voice that, for a moment, Harry was sure that everyone could hear.

“I know you are preparing to fight. It will be futile. It will cost a great many lives. Lives neither of us wish to lose.”

Draco had hold of his hand. Harry could feel the distant bite of his nails against his palm. Heard Draco hiss his name – but it was drowned out by Tom Riddle.

“In order to avoid magical blood being spilt, I have a proposition. You surrender yourself, Harry Potter. You surrender, and I’ll harm no one. I shall leave the castle peacefully, and no one will have to die.”

A pause.

“You have until midnight.”

The voice retreated. The pressure – a heavy, painful pressure at the front of his head, that he hadn’t realised was there – disappeared. He was left to return to his senses.

“He won’t hurt anyone if I go to him,” he said. Voice thick.

“What?” Hermione asked. “You – he spoke to you? I thought you were able to block him out.”

“It’s – hard – when he’s – close. And I’m – stressed.” Harry was shivering. He gritted his teeth. “He said he won’t hurt anyone unless I go to him.”

“You can’t believe that,” Draco said. Still had Harry’s hand in a death grip.

Harry shook his head. Maybe Riddle would not harm Hogwarts today. But that didn’t mean he would leave it alone. It didn’t mean that he would stop the Carrows from hurting people.

“But he’s there!” a shrill voice called. “Harry Potter’s there! We can hand him over now and we’ll be left alone.”

Faces turned towards him. It was Pansy Parkinson, stood at the Slytherin bench, and pointing at him.

The DA stood around him. The rest of the Gryffindors. The Hufflepuffs. The Ravenclaws. Even, Harry was satisfied to see, most of the Slytherins – apart from the few in Harry’s year who truly despised him and Draco.

“Anyone.” McGonagall’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Who believes in handing over Harry Potter can follow Mr Filch from the hall. At Hogwarts, we stand together.”

They did, all casting disgusted glances at Harry and Draco. The students sat back down in silence, an air of expectation over them all. The teachers began discussing the evacuation plan, discussed defences – with Professor Sprout bringing up a disturbing amount of dangerous plants to get outside.

Whilst Harry sat on the knowledge that he could stop it all easily. It was not worth telling anyone. If McGonagall thought he was going to accept the offer, he was sure that she’d chain him up in the dungeons for his own wellbeing.

“But we’re staying,” Ginny said. Stood again, brushing her bright hair away from her face. “Hogwarts is our home and we’re protecting it.”

McGonagall examined her. “You are children.”

Ginny stared back. “We always have been. We were when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. We weren’t evacuated then.”

“Hogwarts is our home,” Neville added. Stood too. “We’ve been the ones defending it all term. We should be allowed to defend it now.”

There were murmurs of agreement, particularly throughout the DA. McGonagall watched, lips pursed and nostrils flared, whilst others stood. Wands out.

Until the decision came, “Fifth years and above may stay, if that is what they desire.”

That was the attitude Colin Creevey had. Harry swallowed, familiar guilt rising that he had encouraged this kind of attitude. And yet, he knew that if it was someone else who was the chosen one, he would have wanted to stay too. Knew that it was their choice, and they were the ones who had to make it.

The evacuation begun. He received many murmured “good lucks,” and nervous smiles from the younger years as they were filed from the hall.

When half of them were gone, a group entered.

Harry stared, heart racing.

It was the Order of the Phoenix. With more members – the team behind Potterwatch. Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins, Alicia Spinnet – Harry searched the familiar faces, saw Tonks, Kingsley, Mrs Weasley, and –

Sirius. Looking very much the same as when they first met. Gaunt, but with that same determined glint in his eye. Lupin was next to him. Looking just as exhausted. More determined than Harry had ever seen him. But they were both alive. Still alive.

Harry wanted to run to them. But he wasn’t sure if they were allowed to get up. Didn’t think he could bare being told off by McGonagall if he did.

“Mum?!” Ron’s jaw hung open.

“I notified the Order.” McGonagall was behind them. She moved as silently as a cat. “And Molly is certainly someone I would want in a fight.”

“But still – she’s _mum_.”

“It doesn’t matter what I’m doing here, Ronald Weasley,” Mrs Weasley said, coming forward. “ _You_ shouldn’t be – you’re meant to be keeping safe, and – and Ginny, you should have been evacuated –“

Harry let the rest of her words drown out, because Sirius had spotted him, and he couldn’t stay sitting anymore. He untangled himself from the bench – started forward – felt himself knock the wind out of Sirius as he hugged him. Relief bolted through him. He’d been worried, of course he’d been, but in the same vague way he’d worried about Ginny. Now it hit him. All the fear and terror and question that he might not see them again.

But Sirius and Lupin were here. Alive. Safe. Having Sirius’ – a proper adult’s – arms around him made him feel safe too. As though everything was going to be alright, now they were here. Everything would be fixed.

He couldn’t speak. He could only hold onto Sirius, though it felt like holding onto a thin mast in a swirling storm. 

“She’s right.” Sirius’ hands found his shoulders. Pushed him away so that Sirius could give him that stern look. “This is the last place you should be, Harry.”

“We have to be here.” His words tumbled over themselves. Hands found Sirius’ because he was _here_. “There’s a horcrux in the castle. We know where it is –”

“Then you leave as soon as you’ve destroyed it.” When Harry hesitated, Sirius’ fingers tightened. They almost hurt. “ _Harry._ ”

“The snake,” he said. “The snake’s the last one. And then –”

“You destroy this one. And go.”

“As though that’s simple and easy.” It was Lupin, with a hand on Sirius’ arm to get him to relax. He hugged Harry and pulled Draco in before he could slip away. And when he did, Draco lingered for a moment. “We have a lot to prepare here. The four of you should get moving.”

So they did, nodding hellos to the Order of the Phoenix as they passed and hurrying through the rapidly emptying castle. The clocktower dolled, sounding louder than usual in the quiet, and Harry realised that lessons would have been finishing now.

The corridors had never been this empty at the end of the day.

“Why the Room of Requirement?” Ron asked, as they hurried up the stairs, tripping on the marble in their haste. “Didn’t he realise anyone can get in?”

“Considering he desecrated three of the founders’ artefacts,” Hermione huffed. “He seems arrogant enough to think they couldn’t.”

The staircases chose that instant to move. They gripped the bannisters, and Harry recalculated their path.

“Look – that’s Neville’s grandmother,” Ron said, pointing over the bannister, with the same attitude he would have watching a quidditch match.

He looked down to see the tell-tale eagle hat.

“Neville?” A reedy voice called. “You’re fighting? Very good – very good, I’ll assist you.”

Neville’s reply sounded a healthy mix of proud and strangled.

They continued on. Reached the Room of Requirement, and Harry thought desperately of the place that he needed. They barrelled through.

“We need the bust of an old man with a wig and tiara,” he said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “Someone was very droll.”

He ignored her. Started down one of the aisles, hoping that muscle memory would guide him to the right place. They walked through the labyrinth of lost and forgotten things. There were piles of dusty desks and chairs, textbooks piled so high that they wobbled, general flotsam, jetsam and junk.

The vanishing cabinet Blaise Zabini used last year to sneak Death Eaters into the castle.

Eventually, they spotted it, down a dead end. It was right where Harry had left it, sat lopsidedly over the dusty wig. Yet the diadem itself was – untouched. The jewel in it gleamed like an eye as the four of them stood around it, all with basilisk fangs tucked next to their wands. Ready.

“Well,” Ron said. “Hermione hasn’t had the pleasure yet.”

Hermione blinked at him. “Right. Well –”

She pulled the fang from her jeans pocket and stepped up to the diadem. Regripped it. Swallowed.

“I can – if you want –” Harry stepped forward.

Hermione shook her head. “It’s just – well give me a moment. It’s _Ravenclaw’s Diadem_. And we _found_ it.”

Harry could understand. It was history they were standing in front of. The lost diadem. It could change the wizarding world.

But it was also changed now.

“It’s a horcrux,” he said. 

“But – the cup still kept its power,” she continued. “Maybe it could help us.”

“If you’re the smartest witch of your age,” Ron said. “And that’s without the diadem.” Hue put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “We don’t need it.”

“And how will those pubs make money if they don’t have a vague, open-ended story to capitalise on?” Draco asked.

Hermione wasn’t listening. She was looking at Ron with shining eyes, her cheeks pink. They stood, close to each other, until she murmured for him to hold that thought.

In the next moment, the diadem was cracked. The fang had come down in an arc.

Harry’s scar flared in pain. He put the heel of his palm against it, feeling someone else’s rage throb through him. Riddle. Outside the school. Waiting. Thinking about changing that plan.

Ron and Hermione were entwined. He’d lifted her by the waist, and was mostly obscured by her hair.

Draco stepped in front of Harry. Brushed the hair away from his face, calling his name. But he sounded far away. How was this getting worse? He’d thought that he’d conquered this – that he was an occlumens. They both were. So how could Voldemort keep slipping into his mind?

He caught his breath, and let the pain retreat. Hermione still had hold of the new cracked diadem, her arms around Ron.

“Do you really think I’m the brightest witch of my age?”

“Well, I mean – yeah.”

“Hey – there’s a war about to start,” Harry said.

Ron shrugged. "Got to get it in whilst we can, then."

Harry wanted to laugh, but could only manage a weak grin.

Draco kissed his forehead. Over the burning scar. "He's right, trouble."

A shiver went up Harry’s spine.

There was a battle starting, he realised. And not everyone would make it through to sunrise.

*

The castle was still eerily empty, but no longer quiet. As they made their way back down the Grand Staircase, Harry feeling drained already, they could hear the distant sounds of spells. There was thumping and yelling coming from outside the castle.

When they passed a window, they saw Neville, his Grandmother and Professor Sprout tossing out Horklumps and Devil’s Snare – even a venomous tentacular. Slughorn almost rushed past them, before he stopped an insisted they all take a tiny drop of Felix Felicis. It did not make Harry feel much better, but it seemed to inspire a burst of energy in Ron.

The action was on the ground floor. As they passed through, they saw a member of the Order at each entrance – each courtyard – trying to halt Death Eaters before they got into the castle. For every one of theirs, there seemed to be five of Voldemort’s. At least the suits of armour, the plants from the balcony, were helping. It was already dark outside, so that the night was lit with red and green like fireworks.

They heard a loud _‘wheeeeeeee’_ and saw the silvery figure of Peeves, dropping dungbombs and stink pellets over the Death Eaters’ heads. At least they distracted them long enough to get them stunned. And yet – Harry could not help but feel there was something – childish about it. Something that made the battle seem like a silly dispute, instead of a war. Humiliation seemed an unfitting end.

Harry was suddenly held fast, his cheek pressed against a mixture of wiry hair, and soft fur, feet lifted from the ground. He could hardly draw in a breath, he was being gripped so tightly. But it was hair that he recognised, a familiar smell of soil and soot, that meant it could only be –

“Hagrid!” he wheezed.

“Yer here, Harry!” Hagrid, mercifully, released him, to embrace Ron and Hermione. Shards of glass fell from his beard. “Blimey, yer all are.”

He paused, glancing at Draco. They had never reconciled, and Harry did not think they ever could. He talked to move past the awkwardness – “but how are _you_ here?”

Hagrid’s face grew grave. “There’s a dark mark over the castle. I knew it was time ter fight. Me and Grawpy headed down – I asked him to get me in, and he put me through a window, bless him.”

_“Grawp’s_ here?”

“Well, yeah, you-know-who’s got a couple of giants of his own out there.”

“Fuck,” Ron whispered. Harry had to agree with the sentiment.

Draco tugged at Harry’s jumper. “Grawp?”

“Hagrid’s half-brother.”

“And he’s a –”

“Giant.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, and Harry, knowing something unpleasant would come out of his mouth, elbowed him.

“Now now.”

“I don’t know what time would be better to let Aragog’s children out of the forest,” Hagrid said.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ron whispered, again.

Harry could see several things wrong with that. But they also needed all the help they could get.

“Sure,” he said, to Ron’s dismay. “And if you see Riddle’s snake, we need to kill it.”

Hagrid looked confused by that, but did not have time to question it before Fang barrelled past, a collection of wands in his mouth. Hagrid bundled after him, pink umbrella akimbo to cast jets of red haphazardly.

“We’re going after the snake?” Hermione asked, face pale.

“We can end this. Tonight,” Harry said. “We have to try.”

“Wait,” Ron said. “The house elves. We have to get them out. I mean – we can’t ask them to fight for us.”

Hermione looked at him like _that_ again. Shining eyes and flushed cheeks. It made Harry wonder whether Ron cared about the House Elves, as much he did impressing her. The two of them hurried in the direction of the kitchens, Hermione stopping to tell Harry that it was safer if he used the cloak.

The cloak.

“I left it in the Great Hall,” Draco said, when Harry turned to him. “Be honest, you weren’t going to use it.”

He wasn’t wrong. The last thing Harry wanted to do was manoeuvre through the battle under the cloak . “Let’s find that snake.”

It was easier said than done. Gargoyles fell from their perches as they passed, and gravel sprayed from the walls as they were pummelled from the outside. They walked without a sense of direction, saw Sirius and Lupin battling back to back, Tonks fighting alongside a group of Hufflepuffs, Ginny casting a hex that got Aberforth Dumbledore to cheer.

“Where do you propose we start?” Draco asked, pulling Harry behind a pillar in the courtyard they were in.

“He wants Dumbledore’s wand. He’ll head to his tomb.”

The idea wasn’t pleasant, but they started in that direction, keeping protego in front of them to deflect the shrapnel spraying around them.

They were near the back of the castle, only a corridor to go – but there was someone there. A large, hulking form that Harry recognised. He pushed Draco behind him, drawing his wand, though his hand shook.

It was Fenrir Greyback, looking more animal than man as he came forward, shoulders hunched over. He’d recognised Draco. There was a glint in his eye that matched the one in his grin. Harry was sure that he was murmuring something about the Malfoy pup, but blood was roaring too loudly in his ears to hear clearly.

“Stupe-”

His wand flew out of his hand. He turned to see it caught by a gloved hand. A Death Eater, masked, shooting through the window, wand raised to strike again. It flashed in the next moment, before Harry could move, and he felt a sharp push on his chest.

His head hit the wall in the next moment. Body hit the flagstones. Everything stung from the impact. There was yelling above him, Draco casting, but everything sounded foggy. He rolled, to try and catch his breath –

Clarity returned. Fenrir Greyback was over him, eyes almost yellow, facial hair growing in patches, as though he was half transformed already. He leered, smelling of decay.

“Harry Potter.” Even his voice was a growl. “Tell me – are you his pet, or are you his?”

He had a hand on Harry’s shoulder, grinding it against the ground. But he could move his other arm – he swung it up in a fist. It connected with Greyback’s cheekbone. Did not shift him.

Greyback chuckled. Caught his wrist with a grip so tight he was sure he heard a pop. “What’s it like now that he’s a monster?”

“He’s not like you.” Harry spat. Literally, as he struggled to shift him off.

It only made Greyback growl in the back of his throat. He came closer, teeth bared –

A yell. The face fell away from him. The pressure on him relieved. Something came down on Greyback’s head again, knocking him to one side and allowing Harry to scramble away. He sat up, arms on the cold floor behind him to see his boyfriend hitting Fenrir Greyback’s head with one of the stone bricks scattering the floor. Still yelling.

Until Greyback lay still, blood oozing from his temple, sticking in his lank hair.

Harry got to his feet, feeling battered. “Draco.”

The brick dropped to the floor with a dull thud. One end was darker than the other.

He stepped towards him. Put a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

Grey eyes stared at Harry, unseeing for a moment, before –

“Did he –” Draco’s hands flurried over Harry’s cheeks – neck – shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’m fine – _fuck_.”

“Fuck.” Draco pulled him close. He was trembling. So was Harry. “I thought –”

“I’m fine.” Harry took a breath. Pulled away just enough so that he could adjust his glasses. Looked down at the limp form of Greyback. “You could kill him. Do the world a favour.”

“I can’t.” Draco’s voice was faint. He tangled his fingers in Harry’s jumper. “Then we’d be the same.”

“No – he’s – _evil_.”

“They’re evil because they use magic to hurt people. If we do the same, that’s not any different. If we want to call ourselves good we have to stick to our morals.” For a moment, Draco looked sheepish. “It’s what I’ve been thinking about. Since the locket.”

Harry kissed him. They were both covered in dust, so he kept it brief. It all clicked into place, Draco asking just what it was that made a wizard ‘dark.’

“But it’s okay to smash his head in with a rock?” he asked.

“One, he’s still breathing.” Draco nudged Greyback to make sure. “Two, he was messing with my boyfriend.”

Again, Harry kissed him. “I love you.”

“I know.” Draco took his hand, to begin to start forward once more. “Your wand.”

Harry glanced out of the window, where the battle was raging in full force. The evening was lit with streaks of spells. Dark shapes with many legs were scuttling around – Hagrid had done as he said he would – and the ground rattled where the giants were walking.

It would be suicide to fetch it now.

“I’ll use Dumbledore’s,” he decided. It would be quicker and easier. What did Snape say – two birds with one stone?

They only had to get there before Tom Riddle.

So they hurried on, high alert now, out of the castle and over to where Dumbledore was buried. The white tomb shone like a ghost against the dark. This part was deserted. All of the Death Eaters were at the castle, focusing on finding Harry, or creating as much chaos as they could.

The sounds of the fight grew muffled. The spells looked more like fireworks, now that they were further away.

It was too quiet, Harry thought. This was the place where Voldemort should have been getting to, and yet, nothing was here.

“Where is he?” Draco asked, wand at the ready, and yet he was still shaking.

“He said he didn’t want to shed magical blood –”

“Bullshit.”

“I know. He must be waiting for us to surrender. Then he can just swan in and take it.”

“We’re not.” Draco squeezed his hand. “ _You’re_ not.”

“No.”

They were at the tomb now. Staring down at the white marble.

“Is graverobbing what good wizards do?”

“He would have wanted you to have it,” Draco replied. Cast the lid to slide off of the tomb. “Better you than _him_.”

There he was. Dumbledore. Wrapped in a shroud, but still with his spectacles on his nose. The man he had trusted for so long, who had kept so much from Harry.

He took the wand as gently as he could. It felt heavier than his own – as though it expected something from him.

They resealed the tomb. It made Harry think back to _that_ night. One of his last ones at Hogwarts. The night that Dumbledore fell from the tower.

Because a man he trusted had fired at him.

That was it. It clicked together, perfectly, for Harry. Snape had fled the castle. Not out the front gate – the other Death Eaters would be coming through that way, and he would not want to admit to them that he had lost control. Would not want to be seen running like a coward.

Riddle was not going to come through the front gates. That would mean walking from Hogsmede – down the high street – and would mean fighting his way through the front of the castle. As flashy as he was, Harry suspected he would prefer to appear, as though out of nowhere. That would shock more – it would spit on the security of Hogwarts –

Snape knew a way through to Hogwarts. A sneaky, unknown way that he could have stopped the Carrows from blocking up.

“I know where Riddle is,” Harry said.

“Where?”

The place that tied them all together. The Maraudeers and Sirius, him and Draco. They’d all used it. It had been where Harry found out the truth, when he was thirteen, about who was really responsible for his parents’ deaths.

“The Shrieking Shack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): It's Halloween so it gets dark nice and early >u>
> 
> Yeah, I skipped the fiendfyre. I could have had Blaise Zabini do it, but I wanted Hermione to destroy a horcrux more. It's point in the book would hint at Draco having a redemption, but then he just goes back to the Death Eater's side, so it doesn't mean much? I guess to show Harry's a decent person, but after seven books, we know he has that sense of honour? I replaced it with Greyback, because I felt that rounded off Draco's question from the locket nicely, and provided some closure.
> 
> I also think the morals of hp are so wishy-washy. It's fine, when it's like, Joe Abercrombie, but when you're writing children's books and having the role models for the characters use unforgiveable curses (even Harry's crucio, whilst a 'ahh got the bad guy' moment, is...idk, a sixteen year old boy using a torturing spell) is...hm. Idk, it very much seems like a 'we can use the bad spells because we're the good guys,' which isn't a good justification. As for tossing plants and stuff - Darren Shan explores this kind of warfare in 'The Vampire Prince' in a more detail.
> 
> There's so many little details from the Battle that I actually like - Neville's gran being one of them. Idk, if you still have a copy of Hallows, feel free to refresh yourself on some of the fun character moments.
> 
> Thanks so much for the support!! And I'll update again on Tuesday!


	25. 25

The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack was partly collapsed in places, so they had to army crawl. (Much to Draco’s distaste.) It was only last year they did this monthly, as a safe place for Draco to spend the full moon, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

Camping wasn’t so different – the Shack would get just as cold in the winter – though it was private, at least. And Draco’s fur had been warm.

He was trembling all over. On the way to the Whomping Willow, Dementors had descended upon the school in a thick flock. The two of them had been too stunned – too drained – for Patronuses. It was Luna, Seamus and Ernie who had saved them with their own silver animals.

“Come on, Harry!” Luna called, over her shoulder, hair silver in the moonlight. “Think of something happy!”

He looked to Draco’s pale face. Found that he smiled.

“The gay little bookshop,” he whispered.

The Dementors had scattered against their combined Patronuses.

Now, Harry and Draco stood at the end of the passage to the Shrieking Shack. There was a crate in the way of the door, but it helped to hide them, as they peered through where the wood had rotted away to the room beyond. A familiar, ruined room, with a familiar man sat in the armchair.

Draco’s nails dug into Harry’s arm. It was not the first time he had laid eyes on Lord Voldemort, but the last time – after the Ministry – would have cemented the fear of him for good. Yet, Harry couldn’t admit to being comfortable either, at the sight of Voldemort’s snake-like face. His eyes looked red in the dim light of the Shack. But there was something – unsettled – in the way he toyed with his wand. In the way he had his head tilted to one side, listening to the distant sounds of the Battle of Hogwarts.

He knew. Knew that they were close to destroying all the Horcruxes. If he wasn’t scared, he was at least cautious. And Nagini was proof of that. The snake writhed, suspended in a shimmering cage. Harry’s wrist stung from the just memory of her fangs.

And, kneeling before both of them, was Lucius Malfoy – Draco grabbed Harry’s hand tightly. They could only see his profile, but his cheek was dark with bruises. Haggard, was the word Harry would use. He looked haggard; hair still singed from the fight at Malfoy Manor.

“You wish me to call off the attack.” Voldemort’s voice was cold. Almost smug.

“My lord –” Lucius’ was, by comparison, broken. Pained. “I beg you – my son –”

Harry dug his fingers back into Draco’s – he did still care, in some way, then. Both of their palms were damp. Neither of them, he was sure, were breathing.

“Your son is on Potter’s side and chooses to be there,” Voldemort – no, Riddle, Harry reminded himself – he was just a man – snapped. “Even if he wasn’t, I have no use for him as he is now.”

A look of unbridled pain crossed Lucius Malfoy’s face. Almost as though Draco had been killed in front of him. Harry did not dare to glance across to see Draco's reaction. This was a moment he shouldn’t be part of.

"But," Lucius continued. "The students - some are pure bloods -"

"All who are loyal to me have already left." A low chuckle. "They will make a suitable reserve. "

"The others could be persuaded. If they lost hope -"

"Fetch me Severus." Riddle flicked his hand, making Lucius flinch. But Harry had seen him raise his brow. He was, at least, considering the idea.

“Severus, my lord?”

“There is a service I require from him. Go.”

Lucius stumbled from the room. Now, Harry thought. They could go now. There was the snake. If they killed it, then that was the last horcrux gone. But it was in that cage. Harry did not even know what spell it was, much less how to break it. They would only have one chance.

Draco nudged him, and in the dim light he saw him shake his head – his cheeks were damp. He mouthed ‘wait.’

The sound of footsteps came to them, and they pressed back against the slits in the door to see Severus Snape sweeping into the room. So, he was not fighting either. They had sent in everyone who was not useful.

“My Lord.” There was something off-kilter about Snape too. Something fidgety that Harry could not place. “I will find Potter and bring him here, if that is what you wish.”

“I do not.”

“But, surely you are worried that someone else will kill him.”

“My instructions were clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends. Unless, of course, anyone wishes to toy with them.”

Snape flinched. Just slightly. A twitch of his eye.

Riddle noticed. “Harry Potter is honourable. If his friends are hurt – if Mr Malfoy is hurt – he will surrender himself willingly.”

Snape nodded, but it looked to Harry like an excuse to duck his head. Despite everything, it seemed that he still cared what happened to Draco.

In the passage, Harry pressed himself closer to him. It was hard to hear over the racing of his heart.

“But it is not Harry Potter I wish to speak about,” Riddle continued. “I have another problem, Severus.”

“My Lord?” There it was again. That twitch. Like he was uncomfortable. Dark eyes darted towards the suspended snake.

“This wand.” He twisted it as he spoke. “It will not work for me.”

“I’m sure I misunderstand,” Snape said. Looked like a student who’d been asked a question they did not know the answer to. “Every wand you’ve carried has worked wonders –”

“Not when it mattered. Twice now, it has refused to kill Harry Potter.”

“When you procured Ollivander, he explained –”

“The twin cores, yes.” Riddle stood, and though he was only an inch taller than Snape, it seemed more like a foot. “So why did Malfoy’s wand shatter too?”

A pause. A glance to the snake. “I shall fetch the Elder Wand for you, in that case.”

“It won’t work.” Those eyes glittered. Truly looked red now, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. “The wand is not so fickle. It will only obey the wizard who has won it from the last.”

Snape must have realised his meaning, realised where he was going, because he was frozen still. His skin looked like wax, and his lips were colourless.

“It may not be enough to take the wand from Albus Dumbledore’s grave. Not when it was not I who killed him.” Riddle stepped forwards, dark robes flowing around him, as though the shadows had come to life. “I cannot afford to make such an error on this night. You understand, don’t you, Severus?”

Snape continued to stare at him, wide-eyed.

Draco was trembling again. Harry was sure they were making each other’s hands bleed, but he could only hold on back. They could go – charge forward whilst they were distracted, and _maybe_ get Nagini out of the cage. Snape would no doubt be on their side. It would be three against one – so why couldn’t he move?

“My Lord.” A beg, or a plead, or sheer disbelief.

“You have been exceedingly useful to me, all these years.” Riddle stepped forward again. Put a spidery hand on Snape’s shoulder. “And your loyalty has been unparalleled. I must ask you to prove it a final time, my friend.”

Snape swallowed. He moved in a flash to draw out his wand – but Riddle’s was already out – already flicked by the time Snape had his free –

No light came from Riddle’s.

It was the cage. He’d opened the cage, and now Nagini was slithering out, free from her prison.

“ _Kill_.” It must have been parseltongue.

Snape tried to dart out of the way, but only succeeded in the snake sinking her fangs into his shoulder, instead of his neck. Twice. He fell – dropping his wand – crying out. It rolled to land at the hem of Voldemort’s robe of shadows.

He picked it up. Strode past Snape, with Nagini’s cage – locked once more – following. They could not see him, but Harry assumed he’d stopped at the doorway, “I do regret it.”

If that was his regretful tone, then Harry would like to know his uncaring one. Perhaps, with such a fractured soul, he could not feel much anymore.

Draco shoved the crate. Pushed it out of the way so forcefully that its corner hit Harry’s arm.

“Wait – Draco –” He scrambled to stop him as he pushed at the rotten door, and stumbled into the Shrieking Shack.

Harry had to follow. His ears rung with the effort of hearing if anyone was upstairs. It did not seem so. He glanced out into the ruined hallway to see the front door of the Shrieking Shack open.

Lord Voldemort was moving towards Hogwarts.

“Professor! We can get an antidote,” Draco said. He was by Snape’s side, fingers hovering over the wound in his shoulder. It was already swelling, leaking crimson. “We made an antidote before.”

“There is no time for that.” Snape’s voice was faint.

“But Granger’s bag –” Draco realised it the same time Harry did. That she would have left it somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. By the time they went back for it – if they could get there through the fighting – it would be too late.

“You’re both fools to be here,” Snape rasped.

“Fools who aren’t letting you die alone,” Harry replied, and wasn’t sure why. Bent down next to Snape, and did not know how he felt. He had never liked the man. Hated was a better word. But hated did not mean that he wanted him dead. Not like this. He looked at Draco, who’s eyes were glistening.

“Dumbledore did not tell you.” Snape’s dark eyes were on Harry, with a sudden, disturbing clarity.

“Tell me what?”

Snape’s mouth flickered. “You must die.”

Harry’s hands went cold. He stared down at his old teacher.

“Albus believed – on _that_ night – the Dark Lord’s killing curse rebounded –”

“I know that.”

“–It separated a part of his soul. That part – went into the only living thing there…You.” Snape took a rattling breath. “He kept you alive so that you would die – taking that part of the Dark Lord’s soul – with you.”

No.

Everything swirled in Harry at once. “How can I trust anything you say after you killed him?!”

Another flicker of his lips, though it seemed to be more of an effort now. “He asked me.” Snape drew in a long breath. “Albus was cursed – the ring – he tried to break it – and it cursed him. He was going to die. He wanted me to make it quick. Or – a spectacle.”

Dumbledore tried to break the ring? The stone. He’d wanted the stone. Was willing to chance getting cursed for it.

For Arianna.

“But – but –” No.

“I lied for him – spied for him – to keep you alive –”

“You hate me,” Harry said.

Snape drew a rattling breath. Raised a hand that did not quite make it to Harry’s glasses. “But not Lily – never – Lily Potter –”

Lily’s eyes. It was hardly the moment to feel awkward, but knowing that Snape was searching for any sign of his mother in him, made Harry’s stomach squirm.

“ _Professor_.” Draco’s voice was weak and his cheeks damp.

It seemed a huge effort for Snape’s dark, now glassy, eyes to move across to Draco. An even larger effort to move a hand from the wounds on his neck and rest shaking fingers on Draco’s cheek. He left red fingerprints there.

“Get away from here. As far – as you can. Run, Malfoy – Draco – keep yourself – safe.”

Snape’s hand fell first. Then the life faded from his eyes. He went limp, shifting backwards against the wall of the hut.

Draco cried out, pressing his forehead against Snape’s chest. Very much the same as if he’d just lost a father. And Harry supposed, in many ways, Snape had been one.

He moved around the now-corpse. Took Draco’s shoulder, and gently peeled him away from Snape’s dark robes. Like Draco always seemed to do for him. He held him to his own chest, feeling Draco’s sobs wrack through him as though they were Harry’s own.

Draco buried himself against Harry’s jumper, clinging to him as though he was the only thing left in the world. So Harry’s grip tightened, his head whirring with the information Snape had given him.

Harry Potter had to die. Dumbledore had known that, for a long time. Had watched him grow and learn and knew – knew that Harry was going to die.

He hadn’t even been able to tell him himself.

A voice came, echoing through the abandoned house. “You have fought valiantly. Yet you still have maintained great losses. That saddens me. That magical blood is spilt and that you still believe you have a chance of seeing the sunrise. But, the Dark Lord is merciful alongside powerful. I command my forces to retreat.”

Harry’s heart thudded. It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over like that.

“For an hour. To allow you to dispose of your dead with dignity. And to allow Harry Potter to come to me. He has permitted you all to die for him. So, I shall wait at the tomb of Albus Dumbledore for him to face me himself. If he fails to do so, then at midnight, I shall join the fray myself. And kill every last person who stands between myself and him.”

The voice disappeared, as though it had been nothing more than a dream. For a moment, Harry wondered if he was the only one who heard it.

But then Draco nuzzled closer into him. “You _can’t_ , Harry.”

Snape said that Harry Potter had to die.

He had an hour to decide if that was true or not.

*

“Come on babe, let’s get back to the castle.” Harry smoothed Draco’s hair. Did not mention Voldemort’s proposition. “You’ll be safe there, Draco.”

Draco paused. “ _We’ll_ be safe there.”

“That’s what I said.” But it wasn’t. It had been deliberate.

More because thinking that Harry was going to do something stupid was what made Draco Malfoy wipe the tears from his cheek with the heel of his hand. To accept Harry’s hand up, and to follow him back through the passage.

They did not talk about Riddle’s proposition. They did not talk about Snape. They simply walked back to the castle with joint hands.

It was a wreck. Most of the windows were smashed, and a handful of walls on the upper floors were completely caved in. The courtyards were completely exposed. Gargoyles lay, chipped or broken on charred grass. Some of Aragog’s children had not retreated, and were busily webbing up bodies, if not dragging them back towards the forest.

Other bodies lay scattered. Some Death Eaters, some Harry recognised. Students he had not spoken to, but knew by sight. A few wizards he’d never seen, but must have been an extended part of the Order.

It was the Order collecting the bodies. Tonks and Shacklebolt saw them first – Tonks embraced them both. Checked them over for injuries.

“Sirius and Lupin are worried sick about you,” they said. “They’re in the Great Hall – go – before they take Voldemort on themselves.”

So they did. Harry should have felt elated – ecstatic – that Sirius and Lupin were both alive and okay. He was only exhausted and confused. The castle was not as eerily quiet as earlier. Other people moved through the corridors, transporting bodies. Soft voices cast spells to start repairing the damage.

The Great Hall was full of sobbing. Bodies lay in neat rows, like a morgue. About twenty of them, and there would be room for twenty more.

“ _There_ you are!”

Arms wrapped around Harry – so tightly he couldn’t support his own weight. He was pressed against Draco, against Sirius and Lupin and Hermione.

“Shit, Harry – we thought –” Sirius pulled away, taking his shoulders, and giving him a firm shake. “I told you to leave as soon as you had the diadem.”

“I lost my wand,” he said. “We went to get Dumbledore’s –”

“ _Dumbledore’s_?”

“Because – well –”

“Because You-Know –“ Hermione shook her head. “Voldemort wants it. He thinks it’s the Elder Wand.”

“So he’s going to be a bit miffed in a few minutes when he realises he can’t have it,” Harry replied. “And then – we guessed he was in the Shrieking Shack –”

“You went to confront him?” Lupin asked. Took a turn in shaking Harry. “On your own? I can’t believe you’d be so – _reckless_.”

“Snape’s dead,” Draco said, his voice numb and hollow.

They turned to him.

“Nagini bit him,” Harry explained. “There was nothing we could do. He said –”

“What?” Hermione asked.

Draco was looking at him, with blazing eyes.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked instead.

“Oh!” Hermione put a hand over her mouth. When she pulled it away, the relief was gone from her face. “Well – he’s with –”

She stepped aside, to show that a crowd of Weasleys were gathered around one of the bodies.

Harry’s blood went cold. He pushed forward – pushed off Sirius’ warning hand.

She stepped aside, to show that a crowd of Weasleys were gathered around one of the bodies.

Harry’s blood went cold. He pushed forward – pushed off Sirius’ warning hand, because no - _no -_ not again. His eyes skimmed over the group of red hair, trying to figure out who was missing. Not Ron - not Ginny - his heart was not squeezed so tightly. Not Mrs Weasley - she was sobbing into Bill's shoulder.

He reached them - put a hand on Ron's shoulder. He turned, deathly pale, blue eyes wide.

"It's - F - Fr -" was all he managed, before he folded into Harry, resting his head on his shoulder. He was trembling.

Harry looked down. It _was_ Fred. His eyes had been closed, but there was still a last smile on his face. Some might say that it looked as though he was just about to sit up, laughing at them all for falling for his joke. Harry wouldn't. He looked dead. There was just a - stiffness about him, that gave it away.

He would look like that too. If he died.

"It was - my - me." He blinked to see Percy stood with them all. With George. He didn't think he'd ever seen them pressed against each other like that. "Saw the Minister, and - told him I was resigning. He got distracted."

It was no one's fault but the man who shot the spell. But the grief was too raw to come to terms with that. Said grief hung in the air like a fog.

Hermione was at his side, cheeks damp. Now that he looked at her properly, he could see her eyes were puffy from tears.

He shuffled Ron to her, and left the family - that he had always felt so much a part of - to their mourning.

Lavender Brown lay next to Fred in the rows - next to her - no. Harry could not do this. Not all at once. He would collapse under the weight.

Better not to know. Not when he would be joining them within in the hour.

Harry looked back to his friends. He knew exactly what Hermione would say, and how she would say it: "You can't possibly trust Snape, not after everything he's done."

Ron would raise an eyebrow at him and say, "Sounds like a trap, mate."

And Harry knew that. Of course he knew that. Did not even trust Dumbledore's word so much anymore. But, he tried to measure what he knew of Snape. Was he a man loyal to the one who killed him even when he was dying? He remembered that in first year, it had been Snape protecting Harry. Had he come to the Shrieking Shack that night to ‘protect’ Harry from Sirius? How much had he been trying to aid Harry behind his back, whilst sneering to his face?

All because of - his mother? Lily. He thought back, to the one scene he saw between his father and Snape. It had been Lily who stopped James.

He examined Sirius and Lupin, still stood with Draco. Sirius would say no - absolutely not - Snape was not to be believed, and most of what Dumbledore said couldn't be either. After all, Aberforth would agree with him here, he sent four teenagers out to stop a war.

Lupin would be more cautious. Would admit that Dumbledore had his faults, but was a clever man. Someone who knew more about Horcruxes, and Voldemort, than most. If Dumbledore trusted Snape, they could too.

But Snape had killed Dumbledore. Said that Dumbledore had asked him too. Harry remembered his blackened hand. Definitely a curse. One that might have killed him anyway.

Draco looked across to him. The words were clear in his eyes – don't you fucking dare, Potter. You _promised_.

Yet - Harry tried to say it with his gaze - he'd never been able to promise that.

There was only one man who could give him the answers he needed. But he was dead, and there was no way to talk to the dead.

Unless - it was a long shot – but he remembered the painting in Grimmauld place. There would be a portrait of each headmaster. That included –

He hurried over to McGonagall, who was in a low conversation with Flitwick.

"Professor," he said. "Was there a portrait of Professor Dumbledore done? For the headmaster's office?"

McGonagall blinked at him, taken aback. "Of course."

"I have to speak with him. What's the password?"

McGonagall regarded him, brows furrowing. She took him by the shoulder, and guided him into the corner of the hall. Clearly, she could see something was wrong.

She always had.

"There is a portrait of Albus Dumbledore in that room. It will be similar to the man himself, but, I must warn you Potter, that does not mean he will know all that its living counterpart did." She examined him closely, as if making sure that he understood her, then sighed. "At any rate, Professor Snape never gave anyone the password whilst he was in charge."

Harry was sure that he could guess, given what he now knew, and given enough time. But then he would have to speak to the portrait, would have to try and find a memory that might not even be up there in the pensieve, and that would take more time. Time he did not have.

And, if he was honest, he did not think it would make much difference. He just – knew. This was the way it had to be. It was the very thing Dumbledore _would_ hide from him. It was his way of caring.

He nodded his understanding to Professor McGonagall, and thanked her for her help. Then he turned, as though in a daze, and started back across the Great Hall.

Draco stopped him. Took both of his shoulders, and Harry realised that he hadn’t been paying attention. It was like he had woken from a trance.

“Where are you going?” The panic was clear in Draco’s voice.

“Dumbledore,” Harry said. Realised that was not an explanation. “To – there’s a portrait of Dumbledore, in his – Snape’s – office – and I want to talk to it – him.”

Draco didn’t move. His presence was at the edge of Harry’s mind, and he thought of Dumbledore’s office as earnestly as he could.

“Trust me, Draco.” His heart sat on his tongue, heavy under the weight of his lie. “I won’t leave the castle.”

For a moment, he didn’t think Draco would let him go. But then he nodded, pale hair falling into his face.

Harry pushed it back – at least his hands weren’t shaking – and took a last, long look over Draco. A face he knew better than his own. He let his fingers trail down to his cheekbones, his jaw. Streaked with dirt, and blood, yet still – beautiful.

He loved him. So much. That was insane. It was insane that they had come this far because they happened to be out of the castle early on the same morning. Because Draco happened to spot the cuts on the back of Harry’s hand. It would be coming up to two years since then, yet it felt like a lifetime.

Harry Potter kissed Draco Malfoy for the last time. Let himself linger, for a moment, keeping his eyes closed to choke back the overwhelming feeling in his throat.

“I’ll be back soon, love,” he lied.

He wanted to hug Ron and Hermione, Sirius and Lupin – his _family_ – but it would be too suspicious. Easier to slip away now, even if it hurt them more later. He gave himself a final look at his two best friends, huddled together. They would be fine. They had each other. They knew what to do.

And his Godfather – _Godfathers_ – stood away from it all. Sirius with a subtle arm around Lupin’s back – Lupin so slightly leaning against him. Tired, they were both tired. They believed him, almost too easily, but at least he managed to smile at them. He hoped they would look back and see that he was thanking them for all they had done.

Harry Potter left Hogwarts Castle for the last time. He headed towards the Forbidden Forest, trying to be brave. He was a Gryffindor. He could be brave. This was the end of the war, and he didn’t have to do that much, really. Only stand there, and make the last moments count.

He saw Hagrid’s hut in the distance. Thought about all the times Hagrid went out of his way to feed him – how he’d brought Harry a birthday cake the first time they had met, and hugged him when he’d told him he loved a boy. He’d not given him enough credit.

Over the stretching fields of Hogwarts castle. The light of the moon disappeared behind a cloud, and he used Dumbledore’s wand to light the way instead.

Dumbledore. The ring. The Snitch.

_I open at the close._

It was Halloween night. But it was also the end. The close.

He pulled the snitch from the moleskin pouch around his neck – another thing to thank Hagrid for – and pressed the gold ball to his mouth. It opened, for the first and last time, to show him the black stone from the ring, cracked down the middle.

The resurrection stone. Dumbledore had been sure it was.

Harry picked it up. He could see them, if he wanted to. His parents.

But did he need to? He wanted to think that he would be seeing them soon enough. And how could he claim he did not know his parents when he had been surrounded by so many adults who cared about him?

He put the stone in his pocket. When his body was recovered, someone might want to use it to see him again.

His body.

Harry swallowed. He understood the fear that Colin had gazed into. The vast expanse of death, that great mystery, lay before him.

He didn’t want to die.

But still, he pressed forward. The black lake was a still expanse of darkness, Dumbledore’s tomb a white light against it.

There was a fire before it. A half-circle of dark figures. As he got closer, he saw most masks were missing or cracked. As he got closer, he saw Tom Riddle sat on the tomb with Bellatrix at his side. Half of her face was mottled crimson, the damaged skin retreating down her black robes, half her hair gone, leaving a honeycomb-like effect on her scalp. Beauty and madness, written all over her.

She had hold of a smaller figure by the shoulder. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. Narcissa. It was Narcissa Malfoy, pale and shivering. She gave a cry when she saw Harry, as though she had been hit.

It got everyone’s attention. There was smirking, and the start of jeers, before Riddle raised a pale hand, and the men around him fell silent. They were all watching – all eager – Bellatrix’s chest heaved with the excitement.

Harry stared at Riddle. Riddle stared back, eyes crimson in the light of the fire.

“You came faster than I expected.”

“I didn’t think it would be an inconvenience,” Harry replied, finding himself stunned at that welcome.

Riddle’s brow raised. There was Nagini, at his feet, writhing over herself. Out of her cage, which meant that Harry would have a dozen spells on him before he could raise his wand, or that she was going to kill him. That would hurt. He didn’t want it to be that way.

“You got something wrong,” he forced himself to continue, voice echoing around the circle.

Riddle’s smile was cold. “Which was?”

“You said I permitted everyone to die for me. I didn’t. Everyone who fought here tonight, chose to be here. They weren’t fighting for me, they were fighting against you.”

“A touching sentiment.”

A chuckle went around the fire at those words, and Harry felt a flare of rage.

“You can laugh at me, but don’t _ever_ laugh at them!” He silenced them.

The flames crackled.

“Never mind that.” Riddle drew his wand. Snape’s wand. Twirled it in his fingers. Smirked. Is the boy who lived ready to die?”

Harry took a breath. Thought of Draco. Of waking up to his kisses, of being held by him.

He heard the words of the killing curse. Saw a flash of green light.

Was knocked off his feet – but not from the front – from the side.

Narcissa Malfoy screamed. In such a familiar way. The scream of his mother.

Everything went black.

Harry was confused. Confused, aching and not dead.

He lay in someone’s arms. Pressed against someone’s chest. Someone had saved him.

No.

He couldn’t move – couldn’t even open his eyes – his body was simply too drained. There was a loud ringing in his ears, but he could hear voices beyond it.

So he reached out with his mind instead and found – Draco. They were curled into each other. Draco’s mind was still there – he was still –

Alive.

They seemed to think it at the same time.

They were both alive. Impossible.

The ringing started to fade. Enough for Harry to hear Riddle say, “a touching, but futile display. Potter is dead. I can no longer feel the connection between our minds.”

But his voice was weak, and he protested that he was fine.

It was true. The pressure on the inside of Harry’s head was gone. His mind was clear.

He understood, suddenly, that Lord Voldemort was not a gifted Occlumens at all. It had simply been the part of his soul in Harry that allowed him to slip inside so easily.

There was a wailing too. Narcissa. It was painful to listen to, as though she was being torn apart from the inside.

“Let her check herself, Bellatrix,” Riddle continued. “She can confirm what we all know to be true.”

Their thoughts still seemed synchronised. To stay still. To barely breathe.

He felt Narcissa over them. Felt her touching Draco’s hair – face – the side of his neck. Perhaps she gasped, realising, but it would be hard to distinguish through her sobs. She felt Harry too, fingers trembling.

“Well?” Riddle’s high, cold voice asked.

Narcissa’s voice was faint and cracked. “Dead.”

That was a lie.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were very much still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): I was going to leave it at 'everything went black' for this chapter, so - you can't complain about cliffhangers because I was going to do so much worse. This chapter is already much longer than it should be, too.
> 
> Uh, yeah - I thought it would be more intriguing if Harry didn't know for sure whether he had to die or not. I also find it kind of - pretentious? - when author's describe an afterlife? Idk it's very bold to make any kind of claim like that. Prince of Thorns, though, was a book that did it briefly but in a way that solved the philosophical problem of evil. Only part of that book I liked, lol.. That - and I had other plans about how Harry's 'death' would go >u>
> 
> As always, thank you so so so much for all of the support!! It's really been brilliant over the last few weeks, because I've been having A Time. If I don't reply to comments, it's because I can't say much other than 'thank you!! <3' 
> 
> I'll update again Friday, and then last update next Tuesday xx


	26. 26

26

Harry lay still on the cold mud, grass prickling at him. His glasses had been knocked askew in the fall, and the bridge pressed against his nose. His leg was at an angle, one arm loosely on Draco.

Draco. Who’d followed him. There was cloth on their legs, and he realised too late that it was the invisibility cloak. Of course – it had been left in the Great Hall. Draco had never believed his lie. And hadn’t let him die alone.

Hadn’t let him die at all.

But Riddle thought they both were. There was shouting and cheering all around them. Jeering. Something wet landed on Harry’s cheek. He was desperate to pull Draco closer, to shelter him from the chaos all around them.

“Harry Potter is dead,” Riddle repeated. “Watch.”

A horribly familiar, agonising pain shot through him. The cruciatus curse. He drew in a breath and held it, every nerve in him screaming. But he would not move. Could not move. Did not move when the pain retreated, and his body was instead lifted into the air, up and down three times, limbs lolloping uselessly.

Because if they were laughing at him, they were leaving Draco alone.

Distant shouting joined the sounds of the Death Eaters. They had been loud enough to attract the crowd from the castle. People must have seen him. Must now be realising what happened.

“Put his glasses on,” Riddle snapped. “He must be recognisable. And make sure that it is obvious just _what_ their saviour was.”

His glasses were found, and pressed back on. Foul breath hit his cheeks as he was laid back next to Draco. Closer than before.

. He had no idea how they were going to get out of this. They could not move. Not now, at least. Not until the right moment, and that would be after –

Then came the bellow. A drawn out, agonising sound like a dog being killed. Sirius.

Harry’s chest ached. Tears sat behind his eyes, and he could only hope they did not fall to give him away. He heard others. Hagrid yelling, Hermione’s scream, Ron’s shout. McGonagall, even, and he never thought that such a scream would be able to come from her. Sounds of utter despair. He hoped, for Draco, as well as himself.

Someone stepped close to their heads. Riddle. That was clear from how close his magnified voice sounded when he spoke, “Your hero is gone. His – lover –” It was said with pure disgust, to jeers from the Death Eaters. “Tried to save him, and failed. Their bodies lie as evidence. The war is over. Lay down your wands, and no one else need die tonight. Continue to fight, and you all shall perish.”

Cries and yells were cut off suddenly. It must have been an enchantment.

Draco’s hand was warm on his waist, where it had been placed. Where he’d held Harry a thousand times before.

“You see? Harry Potter always was a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him.”

The one thing Harry had not wanted people to think of him. He had been foolish to say it to Riddle. Of course he would twist it – nothing was sacred, even in Harry’s death.

“You’re wrong!” It was Ron’s voice. Must have broken through the magic. “Harry never wanted anyone to die for him.”

“He would never let Draco get hurt for him!” Ginny shouted.

“Fools!” Riddle hissed, and yet the sound still carried over the fields. “How can you not see that the battle is over –”

“But not the war.” It was not a voice Harry expected. The voice of Neville Longbottom, rising above the others. “This isn’t over. We won’t let it be. Not until we’re all dead.”

Riddle’s pause sent shivers down Harry’s spine. Dead. They were going to fight to the last. Maybe he should have felt pride at that.

He could imagine the sneer as he finally said, “so be it.”

There were yells – the sound of footsteps – someone was being pushed forward, away from the rest. Heard the bottom of Riddle’s robe on the floor around his head, as he crossed to stand in front of Neville.

“Then this boy shall serve as the first example.”

A delighted cackle came from Bellatrix Lestrange. “It is Neville Longbottom! Son of the aurors!”

“Ah. Yes.” Harry could imagine Riddle circling Neville. Could imagine Neville’s pale, but determined face. “But you are a pureblood, are you not?”

“What does that matter when my parents couldn’t raise me?” Neville demanded. “Because of you. You took them away from me.”

“They paid the price for their foolishness,” Riddle said, flicking his wand dismissively. A cut appeared on Neville’s cheek. He did not flinch. “But you do not have to share their fate. You are brave and from noble stock. You can join me now, and have all that your heart desires.”

Neville glared. “I want my parents back, you bastard.”

He must have raised his wand – “ _Accio, Gryffindor’s sword!”_ – and Voldemort must have been dealing with another spell from the crowd to allow it.

All hell broke loose. Spells came from either side, even from behind closed lids, Harry could see the colours. Hear the yells and screams.

He opened his eyes to find a familiar grey pair looking back at him.

“Ready, love?” he whispered.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Harry and Draco scrambled to their feet – he’d been imagining something more dignified, but that would do. They pulled out their wands and faced the battle in front of them. The sides had been broken, the Death Eaters dispersing into the crowd from Hogwarts, dozens of duels forming. It looked much more even this time around.

The two of them stood back to back, facing off the few Death Eaters around them, whose cries at the dead rising had been drowned out in the sounds of the battle.

“Sorry for worrying you, mother,” Draco called, Disarming and stunning Dolohov with two flicks.

Narcissa’s own wand was drawn, casting a shield around her. Her dark eyes flashed at him. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“I’m having a word with him first,” Harry said, fighting Rockwood. Now the shock, and most of the pain, had faded, he was angry. Angry that Draco had followed him, and had done something so – Harry-like.

“I saved your life, darling, so it had better be thank you. And I can think of a few other things too.”

It wasn’t so much that he was bringing up their love life in the middle of a battle, but in front of his own mother, that made Harry feel boiling hot.

He slashed his wand through the air, causing Rockwood to fall backwards. Just as Neville ran past Harry, the silver sword of Gryffindor aloft in his arms. He yelled, swinging it down onto his target –

Nagini. Out of her cage. Darting forwards to him and Draco –

Her head flew on without her body, tumbling across the ground, and landing at Harry’s feet. Splattering blood onto his beaten trainers. The snake’s amber eyes stared, for a moment looking still alive, before the spark disappeared from them.

Riddle let out an ear-piercing scream. He doubled over, a red jet narrowly missing his pale head.

Then he turned, eyes flashing, lipless mouth pulled back to see the Boy who Lived. Again.

“ _Potter_!” His voice was hoarse, and was swallowed in the chaos. The giants were at it again, wrestling with Grawp, being shot at by centaurs.

He raised his wand, preparing to battle The Dark Lord, when a scream came above all of the noise.

“ _Not my daughter, you bitch!”_

It was Mrs Weasley, barrelling through the crowd to where Bellatrix had been duelling Sirius and Ginny at once. To where there had just been a jet of green.

Bellatrix turned, laughing, “Here comes Mummy to try and save another one of her children!”

She had only just finished her sentence before the spell hit her in the chest. Her eyes bulged, mouth hung open in a Death Head’s grin. Frozen, for a moment, on show to all with her half-burned appearance. Then, she toppled backwards, without a sound.

Another screech of indignance from Riddle. He started to Mrs Weasley, robes flaring out around him like a black star.

No. Harry would lose no one else today.

“It’s me you want, Riddle!” Harry called after him.

He spun on his heel. “Don’t call me that!”

“Tom Riddle,” Harry repeated. Let the name drip from his tongue, and echo around them. “Your fight is with me.”

There were no Death Eaters left around them, now. Draco was still at his side.

Riddle’s slitted nostril’s flared as he took Harry in. Pure, venomous fury, but there was something knew in his eyes. Fear. Fear that his horcruxes had gone. Fear that he had failed to kill Harry once more.

“So,” he spat. “Who are you going to throw in front of you this time, Potter?”

“I never threw anyone in front of me,” Harry said. They both faced each other, wands raised, but not casting. “I tried explaining before. Everyone chose. My mother chose to protect me. Draco chose the same. And Draco –“ He glanced at him, to give him a pointed look. “Will stand aside now.”

Draco stared, indignant, but took a step back. Towards his mother, who pulled him further away, to safety. A few people were noticing, now. The fight was slowing around them, though the spells still lit their faces.

“Do you really think you’ll be able to do it this time? Kill me? Without hiding behind anyone else?”

“Now that you’re not hiding behind your horcruxes,” Harry replied. Kicked the head of Nagini. It rolled across the dirt, and he saw something like pain flash across Riddle’s face. “I was the last.”

“You lie!”

“You know it’s true. That night – sixteen years ago – your curse rebounded. It killed a part of you, and that part went into me.” Harry smiled. “And you just killed that part. Because –”

“Are you going to tell me it’s _love_ , again?” Riddle snapped. “That always was Dumbledore’s favourite solution.”

“But it was.” In truth, Harry had not given much thought to why he was still alive. Now that he did, there were two options that came to mind. One, he wanted to keep to himself. It was something that no one would believe anyway. Something that should not have been possible. The other he knew would annoyed Riddle all the more. “Sacrifice. Draco and I tried to sacrifice ourselves for the people we love. That broke my mother’s protection. The one you tried to share with me by taking my blood.”

“And will it save you now?” The veins popped in Riddle’s head as he shouted it. “My magic is far greater than yours!”

It was. And Harry did not have anything to beat that.

“You have _my_ wand, Potter. I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

“Because you killed Snape?” Harry shook his head. “He wasn’t the master. They planned it, between them.”

“You _lie_ ,” Riddle repeated.

“Snape told me himself.”

“Snape is a liar too. He fooled you all.” That was when Harry realised everyone was watching them. The battle had ground to a halt. Wands were lit to illuminate the scene like a stage. “He was always working for me. My spy, underneath Dumbledore’s nose!”

“You’re wrong about that too,” Harry said. “Snape was on Snape’s side. And when it counted, he always wanted me alive.”

“ _Why_?”

“He loved my mother.”

Riddle gave a cruel laugh of complete disbelief. The few Death Eaters remaining in the crowd laughed with him. It was, Harry had to admit, strange to think of Snape loving anyone.

“If Snape is right, then Dumbledore’s plan was to die, unbeaten, taking the Elder Wand with him,” Harry said.

Suddenly it all made sense. All of Dumbledore’s sayings, across the years. He understood.

“Well then, Tom,” he said, watching Riddle’s eyes widen in fury at the use of his name. “Let’s find out which one of us is right.”

One more moment. Where crimson stared into green, before they both cast –

_“Avada Kadavra!”_

_“Protego!”_

After all, he couldn’t let Expelliarmus stay his signature spell.

He’d been expecting _Priori Incantatem_ once more, but that did not come. Gold flames accompanied the familiar jet of green light – hit Harry’s shield first, bursting over it, covering it like a second skin –

The green rebounded.

It hit Tom Riddle in the chest. He fell backwards. Hit the dirt the same as any other that fell that night. The wand rolled out of his pale hand. His eyes stared, dull and unblinking upward.

At last, Lord Voldemort was defeated.

*

 _“Only one who wanted to_ find _the stone. Find it, but not use it – would be able to get it.”_

 _“Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those, who ask for it_.”

In the end, Harry reflected, he had become Dumbledore’s hero. Exactly as he had wanted it.

Because Harry had not cared that it was The Elder Wand in his hand, so long as he had _a_ wand. And, by taking it, by thinking of him in those last moments, Harry had been asking Dumbledore for help. Dumbledore had always intended Harry to be the next owner of the wand, he was sure of that. Had intended for him to take the wand, just to defend himself, and to hope that it worked.

At least Draco couldn’t have been part of the plan. Harry wasn’t sure what would have awaited him, if he’d not been there, but he thought now that it wouldn’t have been the end. Dumbledore would have had a trick up his sleeve. One that went unused.

They celebrated, as the sun rose on the first of November.

Hagrid told Harry it was just like that morning, sixteen years ago. The first morning Harry spent at the Dursleys. He patted him, tears in his eyes, as he told him how tiny he was. He still felt that tiny, next to Hagrid.

Aberforth seemed to have the Butterbeer and Fire Whiskey on a continuous tap, so that everyone had a glass in their hand. (And several shattered on the floor.) He pulled Draco's back before he gave it to him -

"You know the rules. Work your shift before you get a drink."

Draco glared. "Save the wizarding world before you get yours."

Aberforth was still laughing as he handed it over.

They sat in the ruined courtyards of Hogwarts as dawn broke, casting everything in pale yellows and vivid oranges. Away from the bodies in the Great Hall - the grief would return soon enough. They had to celebrate, whilst the elation was still in them. Before sorrow brought it and held it down like a lead balloon.

The remaining Death Eaters, the ones who had not fled immediately, the body of Tom Riddle, were in the Dungeons. To be dealt with once reality settled back in.

Harry sat, surrounded by his family. Draco firmly at his side, Sirius and Lupin, Ron and Hermione, still getting used to the idea of still being alive. The fire whiskey helped with that. Helped with making all the thumps on the back, and handshakes tolerable.

Narcissa Malfoy joined them. Kissed both of Harry's cheeks, and practically smothered Draco. He protested, but it was half-hearted, and he hugged her tightly.

"Don't ever do anything so reckless again." She kept hold of Draco, turning her head to narrow her eyes at Harry. "You made me a promise, Mr Potter."

Harry had. He had promised that he would not let Draco get hurt.

"I didn't - I told him to stay behind. He didn’t listen."

"Now you know how the rest of us feel." Draco smirked at him from his mother's arms, though his fingers found Harry's, and he squeezed their hands together. Harry squeezed back.

"We were trying to keep them out of trouble, Cissy," Sirius said. "But you need two hands for one of them, and we're at a disadvantage."

He held up his damaged hand. Somewhere along the last few months, he’d gotten used to using his other to hold his wand, but Harry knew it still couldn’t have been easy. Next to him, Lupin rolled his eyes, and elbowed him.

Sirius just laughed at the bad joke, then grew sombre. "And you're welcome to stay at Grimmauld Place. For as long as you need."

"The manor -" Draco swallowed, not quite meeting his mother's eye. "Will need some repairs."

"Oh." Narcissa raised her eyebrows, looking across their faces, no doubt seeing the guilt there. She took a breath, smoothed Draco's hair from his forehead, and placed a kiss there. "Well, _mon ange_ , there will be a lot of changes now."

"And of course, they'll be going back to do their NEWTs." Sirius looked at Narcissa, almost as though he was seeking approval – as though remembering that she was the one to care for Draco, not him and Lupin. “Once they’re recovered.”

She nodded. Smiled at him, as though he was the one who’d passed a test.

Ron groaned. "Harry just destroyed you-know-blooming-who, and you’re going to make him go back to school?”

“You’ll be coming back to Hogwarts as well, young man.” Mrs Weasley appeared, passing trays of Pumpkin Pasties for breakfast. “You can put that you saved the world on your job applications, but no one will want to take you without a NEWT in charms.”

Again, Ron groaned, tucking into a pasty.

“She’s right, you know,” Hermione said. “It will be good to be back at Hogwarts, instead of living in a tent.”

The thought of his bed in Gryffindor tower was a welcome one to Harry. The thought of the Christmas feast, only a few months away, made his mouth water. Good, hot food. Dry roof over his head.

School seemed like a paradise after camping. A paradise and yet – so normal. Lessons. Homework. _Bedtime_. Being a child. Could he even go back to that – being a child – after everything?

Yet, he wanted to. Just for a little while longer, before he had to properly grow up. Someone else could make the decisions. Someone else could worry about life or death, and stop Harry from doing anything dangerous.

Normal, and school, seemed like a very good idea indeed.

*

He took a walk with Draco, later. When people were starting to think about the journey home. Starting to remember the lines of dead in the Great Hall. That arrests had to be made, and a new Minister elected. The whole Ministry, in fact, would be overturned once more. Once again, Harry was sure there would be the excuse of the imperius curse. That was a fight for another day.

The sun was on their backs, though the air was crisp and cold. They walked with joint hands, wound up to the arm, around the curve of the castle. To the Black Lake. Not so far from where it had happened. Where Draco had forced his glove onto Harry. When the bickering had slowed, until it became –

“What’s going to happen to your father?” Harry asked, as they slowed.

Draco shrugged. Sighed, his breath a cloud. Just like then. “Azkaban, I suppose.”

“And how do you –” Harry paused. “How do you feel about that?”

Another sigh. “Not feeling about it – not thinking about it. I feel better thinking about Greyback being surrounded by dementors for the rest of his life.”

Harry pressed against him. It was a comforting thought. So long as security remained tight at the prison.

“I have to ask you something,” he continued.

Draco stopped, a few steps away from Harry, so that he could turn to look at him. Hands still linked. He raised a thin eyebrow. Still completely streaked with dirt and blood. But then, Harry did not think he was faring better.

“Are you going to get down on one knee?” Draco asked.

“Oh, shut up. Twit.” Harry’s cheeks felt hot. He looked down at their linked hands. “What were you thinking, when I left the Great Hall?”

“That my boyfriend is a bad liar.” Draco squeezed his hand. “It was obvious, where you were really going.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Draco looked at him, the dawn turned his hair gold. Put colour in his cheeks where there had been none, before. He pulled Harry a step closer, by his hand.

“That I could not.” Another step. “Would not.” They were practically nose to nose, now. “Let you die, Harry Potter. And that if you were so hellbent on that, then I would have to join you.”

He pressed his forehead against Harry’s. Where the lightning bolt scar still sat.

“I told you.” Draco whispered. Voice cracking as though it hurt. “You’re all I had left.”

Harry raised his free hand. Cupped Draco’s cheek, and rubbed his thumb across that oh-so-familiar cheekbone. Could not find the words to describe the tight pain in his chest – the overwhelming warmth and grief that was flowing through him.

Harry Potter kissed Draco Malfoy for the first time since they had not died. And it still made his heart race – still felt like there were sparks between them.

He rested their foreheads together again. They seemed to belong like that. And he never got tired of staring into grey.

Harry took a breath. It stung his throat.

“It might not have been true love that saved us,” he said.

Draco scoffed, pulling away. “You always were a romantic.”

“I mean –” It was suddenly less cold. His cheeks were warm. “I had the wand, and –”

He searched for it in his pocket. It was still there, glittering like a beetle in his palm as he pulled it into the light. There was a crack down the symbol, but it was still obvious what it was.

“The stone,” Draco said. Grazed a finger over it. Awed at the fact that it could all be true.

“And you had the cloak,” Harry continued. “That's it. That's the Hallows.”

For a moment, Draco still looked shocked. Harry, though, couldn’t feel the same. How could anything be discounted as nonsense in the Wizarding World?

Then, Draco recovered. Smirked. “So, you're the master of death as well as the boy who lived?”

Harry grinned. It sounded impressive, put like that, and not that it was Draco who put the cloak with the other two. That Harry had not cared about the Elder Wand, and had not used the stone.

He didn’t really care for the title ‘Master of Death.’

“Not for long.” He stepped away from Draco, drawing his arm back.

The Resurrection stone soared across the dawn sky as a small, black pebble. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from Harry.

Then, it fell into the black lake without a sound. Disappeared without a trace.

Draco stared at Harry, as if he’d just announced that he was a Death Eater.

“And we'll put the wand back too,” he said, light-hearted. More light-hearted than he’d been in a very long time.

“ _Why?”_

“Because – it’s not mine. And it doesn't matter.” Harry could almost laugh. “Isn't the moral of the whole story that death is inescapable?”

Wand, stone, cloak – it all ended the same. But the Hallows weren’t even the important part. He stepped to Draco. Took both of his hands in his own. Cold – they were both cold from the morning air. He smiled. Gloves. They could both do with gloves right now. Black, leather gloves.

“And,” he continued. Eyes on their hands. On the faint scars that ran across the back of Harry’s right. _I must not tell lies._ “I'd rather have everyone believe that we defeated Voldemort with our extremely passionate, very strong, homosexual love.”

Draco laughed. It had been a long time since he had laughed that way, and it was – fantastic. Made Sent Harry’s heart flying.

And it practically soared when Draco kissed him. Only pulled away to whisper, “I like that.”

They stayed there, hands interlocked and mouths close. Just – together. It felt like a forever since they could just be – with no one else around, no war. The war was over. Voldemort was gone.

Harry Potter was no longer the Chosen One.

And he’d never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): I thought of so many Princess Bride quotes whilst writing this - ide.   
> But - yeah. That's the battle of Hogwarts done. I'm not going to spoil the last chapter, but I am really happy with it and can't wait to share it on Tuesday.  
> Thanks, as always, for all of the comments and kind words. It's been a wonderful journey, and I'm blessed to have so much support for this. <3 xx


	27. Epilogue: There is a Light That Never Goes Out

Epilogue: There is a Light That Never Goes Out

Years Later

“I don’t understand,” Lily Malfoy-Potter said. “Was it the Deathly Hallows, or was it love?”

Harry looked to where Draco stood, leant against the doorframe, arms crossed. His grey eyes shone in the soft lamp light. It made the faint scars across those arms, one by his ear, running down to his jaw, stand out. But then, Harry thought, they were both scarred. Less impressively nowadays – Harry had one on his back from falling off a chair whilst decorating, Draco from teaching Regulus – Reggie – how to ride a bike.

“It was obviously the Hallows,” Reggie said now, sat on the end of Lily’s bed, next to his brother. “They make you the master of _death._ What good would they be if they didn’t stop you from dying?”

“But the Hallows were meant to be a fairy tale.” Harry smiled. Leant back in the chair he’d put by the bedside, for one last story before bed. It was covered in half-dirty t-shirts and shorts, but then Summer was almost here. Let them run wild, whilst they could. “A wand that can’t be beaten? That’s impossible.”

“But it still wasn’t beaten,” Reggie said. “It won against Tom Riddle.”

His brother said nothing. Just watched, and thought. Like Draco would.

“ _How_ did it win?” Lilly turned to Harry so vigorously one of her long plaits hit her chest. It had taken many long lessons with Ginny to learn how to tie those for her. “They were both different wands, so surely it couldn’t be – pourari – prairie –“

“Priori incantatem,” Reggie finished for her. He folded his arms, huffing and leaning back against her collection of cuddly toys. Many lumpy knitted creatures from Luna, and no one was sure what any of them were meant to be. “It doesn’t matter, Lills, it’s all made up. I mean, can you imagine _father_ camping?”

The three children looked to Draco at the door, and giggled. Harry laughed too, feeling a surge of warmth through him. They were bright eyed, pink cheeked – his kids. Maybe not by blood, but that didn’t matter. Family didn’t have to be.

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was smirking too. A familiar smirk, at the fact they did not know the truth. And Harry loved him – loved seeing him smile like that. They may have been older, lines staying put on skin and grey hairs appearing, but that smile stayed the same.

“Can you imagine your dad being a hero?” Draco asked. Smile turning into a familiar teasing smirk. “When he gets lost on the bus to the shops?”

“That was one time,” Harry said, over the fresh peels of giggles. He shook his head at Draco’s raised eyebrow, choosing to lean across and right Lily’s plait. To smooth down her duvet, and kiss the top of her head. “And if you don’t like my stories, then you don’t have to listen to them, Reggie.”

“You’re too _old_ for stories now,” Lily added. She wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck for a final hug goodnight. “You’re going to be eleven soon.”

“Eleven isn’t _old_.” Reggie looked to Draco. “Is it?”

Draco’s face was grave, as he swapped places at Lily’s bedside with Harry. “I’m afraid it is. You’re almost as old as us.”

Harry put the chair back at the desk, as Reggie laughed. He took a moment to look over Lily’s drawings – she was good – very good. Good at drawing the black shaggy dog that Grandad Lupin owned. He suspected Sirius enjoyed that part over being a grandfather.

“Come on, troubles.” Draco’s voice was soft. He held out a hand to Reggie. “Let your sister get some sleep.”

Both boys hopped down from the bed. One dark, one blonde, both yawning. Harry was the last to leave, turning out the lamp and pulling the door until it was open just by a crack. Just in case Lily needed them, in the night.

Reggie’s room was closest. Littered with a dozen sporting endeavours. Hockey sticks, tennis rackets and footballs jostled for space on the floor. It was the Quidditch stories that had enchanted him, when he’d been small. Harry remembered a small boy running around the garden on a broomstick. Reggie would go red and deny doing it now.

And of course, he was still little. But growing up so fast. Eleven. That was when the adventures all started.

He gave them both a hug. Pulled his brother into a brief one too, because he did want him to feel at home, even if he hated showing affection. And mumbled a good night.

Which left Scorpius. Younger than Reggie, older than Lily and yet the newest of the family. A year, maybe a year and a half, since they had gone to the adoption centre and knew – absolutely _knew_ – they had to take the boy with the blonde hair and blue-grey eyes, named after a star. (“It’s _tradition_ ,” Draco explained. “One you’ll have to follow, now you’re a _Malfoy_.” Shit – Harry was a Malfoy – was meant to be _sophisticated_.)

His early years hadn’t been happy – his parents had not been kind – but then, Harry knew a thing or two about that. He was determined to make these years happy ones.

Scorpius slipped his hand into Harry’s, as they headed to his room. Closest to theirs, because sometimes he had bad dreams. (Another thing Harry could understand. He was plagued with half a dozen, at least.)

“I think it was love.” Scorpius spoke slowly, and quietly, making sure that every word he said was worth it. “Not the Hallows. Isn’t that what the story means? That death cannot beat love?”

Harry looked at Draco. Draco looked back at him. Smiled.

“Yes,” Harry said. “We think so too.”

“And – I think – Snape’s wand could not hurt the son of the woman he loved.”

It was something Harry had wondered for many years, and he liked that explanation. It made Snape seem noble. Gave him one final chance to protect Harry. So, sure. Let him have that.

“I think that’s a very good explanation.” Harry opened the door to Scorpius’ room. Full of books. He liked stories – stories with happy endings.

They put Scorpius to bed. He ran his fingers over Draco’s scars, just tracing the lines. After all, he had a few of his own – and said, “Reggie told me that it’s not true that you’re a wolf.”

Draco chuckled. Tugged his sleeve down to cover the bite mark. Just a pale, puckered thing now.

“Don’t believe everything that Reggie says, _mon ange_.” He smoothed blonde hair back, and kissed Scorpius’ forehead.

He joined Harry at the door. They went downstairs, past framed photos on the wall – birthdays, weddings, first days at school. Normal, Muggle schools.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked, when they were at the bottom. He offered his hand to help Harry down the last of the stairs.

He accepted. He could never deny Draco’s hand.

“It might not happen.”

Reggie had two wizard parents, but that did not mean he had magic too.

“Oh, it has to. Just to see his face when he realises that it’s all true.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He’ll think you’re playing a joke on him.”

“Even better.” Draco grinned. “He’ll think it’s a joke all the way until Diagon Alley opens up – and then –”

He pulled a face of shock and amazement. Harry gave him a light shove to his chest. “Don’t be mean.”

Draco caught his fingers – put a hand on Harry’s waist, as though they were dancing, chuckling. Trying to get him to laugh too. Harry couldn’t explain that part – the wonder and delight of finding out that magic was real. That was a more personal part of why he was so eager to keep it from them – because nothing could beat that _moment_.

He looked at Draco – his partner – and raised his eyebrows. “And – maybe he’ll find the love of his life in Madame Malkins.”

Draco’s mouth against his ear. “You remember that, huh?”

“Of course.” Harry let his fingers trail over Draco’s shirt – still button ups, that had never changed. “I never liked you from the start.” He pushed him back a step – so that Draco’s back hit the wall. Got his face close. “ _Malfoy._ ”

“The feeling was mutual.” Draco’s hands tightened on Harry’s waist. Twisting their positions, so that it was Harry who was pinned. And it still took his breath away, still made his heart stutter. “ _Potter_.”

They kissed. Harry still could not get enough of kissing Draco.

“So, when the letter does come through,” Draco continued. Trailed a hand up Harry’s side, bunching up his jumper.

“ _If_ ,” Harry said.

“I can use magic in front of them?”

Harry hummed. Draco kissed him again. Insistent.

“Perhaps,” he relented. Toyed with Draco’s hair.

Draco growled against Harry’s throat.

“You don’t scare me, babe.” He softened. “You never could.”

Draco nipped him. Probably enough to leave a mark.

They were not teenagers anymore. Mr Potter could not teach at school with love bites all over his neck. It wouldn’t be professional, and his students might start believing that his partner disappeared every full moon for a certain reason. It had already took them a year to find out that Draco was a man, and not his pet dog.

But then, the Summer Holidays were coming around. It would not matter then.

It would mean more hours in the shop for Draco.

Not a bookshop. A potions shop. With a floo fireplace so that it could be reached easily, from all over the country. But mainly for the few other magical families in the area. (And if a few of the ingredients that made wolfsbane potion went missing – well, Draco had never been good at maths.) They knew him, of course, as _that_ Draco Malfoy. Did not know he was a werewolf. Only wondered why he would move to a muggle village in the countryside, and not take over his father’s ministry position. His father, who’d served a short sentence in Azkaban, but was still not welcome at Malfoy Manor.

“I love you,” Draco whispered. He’d said it many, many times, but it never failed to make Harry’s chest swell. To send warmth running through him.

He wrapped his arms around Draco, burying his face in his hair, even if it made his glasses press into the bridge of his nose. He was lucky – they were so lucky – in so many ways.

“I love you too.”

A few days later, on the morning of Regulus Malfoy-Potter’s eleventh birthday, the post came through the door.

At the top was a letter addressed to him. A letter very familiar to both of his dads.

**(A/N): I don’t normally put author’s notes in the middle of chapters, but as this was more of a short epilogue, I wanted to add a little treat to make up my usual word count. It’s kind of a thank you for making it to the end. I was messing around with the idea of a oneshot of Draco’s thoughts and feelings up until Hand in Glove, but it became a bit too internally focused and more very small vignettes than what I wanted. I thought I’d put it here instead. It is very rough, and most of the scenes are unfinished, but I thought it would be interesting:**

It had been at the end of Draco's first year when he had gotten the news. He had been in the common room, flicking through a textbook with very little interest whilst Crabbe and Goyle argued about something benign. They were always arguing and it was always over which Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean was the best - blueberry, or blueberry pie? Really, he didn't think he could stand either of them, but they were big and strong and made him feel like he had control. People listened to them. That was important. His father had always said people were only good if they were listening.

And then he'd got the news. Harry Potter had almost died.

That had sent an unexpected chill through his stomach. Harry Potter had almost /died/? Pansy Parkinson was standing there, a grin on her face and her hands on her hips. She was expecting Draco to be happy. To smile or smirk or maybe even laugh. After all, she had been cackling herself when she had entered the Common Room.

But a boy had almost died.

A boy Draco hated - completely despised and would be glad to see the back of. But /dead/ was different. Dead was dead. It was permanent and scary and he didn't want someone to die. Not a Hogwarts student, no matter how pompous and annoying.

"How?" he asked.

"He and his idiot friends went looking for the Philosopher's stone. Can you believe it? Potter and a blood traitor and a mudblood? They're all in the Hospital Wing now!" Pansy had a look of utter glee on her face, but it fell as she looked at Draco. He wasn't smiling. His mind was racing - philosopher's stone? Harry Potter went looking for the Philosopher's stone? "Aren't you happy?"

Right. Happy. He had to be happy - Crabbe and Goyle were, grinning like jack o'lanterns at him and waiting for his reaction.

"Not really," Draco said. He ran the truth smoothly into a lie. "I mean, he's not dead. Just after his moment of glory."

And that had been enough to explain himself. They had nodded. Crabbe and Goyle started their debate back up, and Pansy told them they were both idiots.

Draco had gone back to his textbook, and wondered what Harry Potter was doing. Was he celebrating in the Hospital Wing? Or was he so injured he could barely move? Was he regretting making a hero out of himself? Or was he revelling in all of the attention he was getting?

The questions played on his mind all week. There was no way he was going to the Hospital Wing to check on him - he'd rather die. And he didn't think Harry would be pleased to see him anyway.

Instead, he'd have to wait to see him at the End of Year feast.

Pansy Parkinson had asked to walk together - but after she slipped her hand into Draco's and his stomach had shifted uncomfortably. No, he didn't like that. He pretended his shoelace was undone and fell back. The other Slytherins overtook him, shuffling Pansy along - and he fell into step with Nott instead. He quite liked Nott. He was sensible, quiet and clever. Always doing homework and always getting good grades.

He had nice hair too. Dark and curly - but not like Harry Potter's. This was a tamer curl and a styled tousle.

"Crazy, that stuff about Potter and the Philosopher's Stone," Nott said, as though they'd been walking together this whole time. As if he didn't notice Draco slipping away from holding hands with a girl.

"Yeah," Draco said. "Crazy."

"Heard he was unconscious for days."

"But he's okay now?"

"Think so." Anyone else would have asked why Draco cared.

And he was. Draco had tried to glance over the whole hall in one sweeping arc, but his eyes had landed there first. Like Harry Potter had a magnet around him. There he was with his decidedly dishevelled hair and wonky glasses. There was still a bandage on his hand and there was a bruise on his cheek. Sat with his friends - Weasley and the Muggleborn girl with bushy hair. Both were too loud - too eager - too - Gryffindor. Decidedly Gryffindor, all three of them.

Harry Potter caught his eye, as if he could sense him looking. He had bright green eyes like a cat's that were visible from all the way across the hall. His grin dropped and turned into a scowl.

So Draco scowled back and looked away. It was decided. They were Gryffindor and Slytherin and they hated each other. Simple as that. He couldn’t go back on himself now – that was showing weakness. And his friends preyed on weaknesses.

But there was a flicker of relief in his stomach. Harry Potter was alive. He wasn't dead.

He may hate the boy, but he didn't want him dead.

Which was why his ears had pricked up whenever his father had mentioned Harry Potter that Summer. He mentioned him a lot, in dark tones to his mother, to his friends. Draco knew he was doing it too, but he didn't have anything else to talk about. All he could think about was how his year was defined by Harry Potter. Harry Potter getting a brilliant broom and being a brilliant seeker and how that burnt him up inside because he wanted to do that. It wasn't fair. Anyone could have gotten Longbottom's Remembrall, but it had to be Harry Potter.

And anyway, if Draco hadn't thrown the Remembrall in the first place, Potter wouldn't have even gotten on the team. Really he had Draco to thank for it.

He wasn't the only one listening. Dobby was listening too - to him rant about perfect Potter because he remembered him from Madame Malkins and what if they had stayed friends? What if it was Draco next to Potter all year? He wanted to be the one next to Potter, but he couldn't say that. So he ranted instead, and his father ranted and Dobby listened.

Draco knew he was listening because one evening he was folding laundry in Draco's room, but his ears were all but pressed to the door. He could hear his father's voice down the hall. It was a soft, low murmur that he usually fell asleep to, even if it continued ominously in his dreams.

"Hurry up!" he'd snapped at Dobby. He didn't like the thing. And he never knew why until he was standing in the kitchens with Harry four years later and realised. It was because Dobby was just like him - jumping every time his father spoke. Always on edge. Always waiting for things to turn.

He hated that, so he hated Dobby.

As it scuttled out the room, he stepped up to the door. Heard his father say “Potter.” 

**(Following the idea of not wanting Harry to die, and getting the page for Hermione, as explained in Hand in Glove. Maybe a scene about Harry being parseltongue, and the end of the year.)**

Draco realised he was gay in his third year. Sat with Nott late in the Common Room. They'd been the only ones there, trying to crank out a half-decent History of Magic essay. And Nott had been mucking around, pretending to fall asleep on Draco's shoulder. He'd kept nudging him off, because the contact made his stomach squirm. But a good squirm - the kind of squirm he supposed Pansy Parkinson had when he held her hand. Nott had gotten a hair cut, taming back the curls to show just how well his cheekbones and jaw were developing.

Deep down, he knew why he liked looking at Nott. He told himself it was jealousy.

"Did you know Byron was bisexual?" Nott asked. That was who they were writing about. Professor Binns wanted them to discuss whether he used copious amounts of love potions or not. Draco thought that was nonsense.

"Yeah, I did."

"His last poem is about no young boys in Greece finding him attractive."

Draco paused. "Do you think he was attractive?"

"He looked like a vampire," Nott said. "So, yeah, of course."

It was a dangerous game now, but if he could tease anyone, he could tease Nott. He was probably the only Slytherin in their year who knew the line between banter and being mean - Draco included.

"You look like him."

Nott shifted, tilting his head on Draco's shoulder so that he could look at him. The green light coming from the lake window made him look eerie. It made the shadows on his face too dark and his eyes glitter disconcertingly. "Really?"

"Same hair." Draco didn't look at him as he kept writing. His heart was hammering. And he knew why, but he didn't want to - couldn't - admit why. That was something he was ignoring.

"Are you saying I'm attractive?" Nott shifted again, sat up straight. His gaze flickered over Draco, amused, and he was grinning. His teeth glittered in the dim light. When Draco didn't glance up - because his stomach was screaming at him to abort mission - he grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Draco - are you saying I'm attractive?"

He batted Nott's hand away and frowned at him to cover up the squirming. Composure - it was all about his composure.

"You know you're attractive, tosser." They were at the age of swearing to sound cool.

"And yet I don't have Pansy Parkinson following me around wanting a kiss." And they were at the age where they were trying to figure out if kissing was still gross or not.

Draco snorted, and turned back to his essay. He tapped his quill on the side of the ink pot.

"What's this? You don't want to kiss Pansy?" Nott was being silly now - putting a hand over his heart in mock-shock. Over tired - he was over tired and that was why they were having this conversation.

"Of course, I don't." Draco was overtired too, it seemed. He'd never admitted that. He kept his eye on his parchment, ink hovering over the next words, but he'd completely forgotten what he was going to right.

"You don't think she's attractive?"

"She's-" Draco faltered for the words. This was a test but he had no idea what the right answer could possibly be. Don't look at Nott - whatever he did, he shouldn't look at Nott - it would give it away - this thing he couldn't admit -

His eyes betrayed him and he glanced over. Nott was still smiling, but his eyes were serious now. Looking over Draco again and again and he knew that he'd failed the test.

"But you think I'm attractive," Nott said.

Draco could hardly go back on himself now. He bit his lip and frowned at his paper, as if the right words would appear in the ink.

"Do you want to kiss me?" Nott continued. It was such an outright way of asking and Draco's stomach squirmed away. Whatever he did, he couldn't say 'yes.'

"Just because no girl will kiss you, you think I will?" He tried to sound haughty, but his voice was shaking.

Nott reached over and took the quill from Draco's hand. Their fingers brushed against each others - Nott's hands were always cold. And now he was inches away from Draco, all glittering eyes and glittering teeth and his stomach was trying in earnest to eat itself.

"Maybe I don't want the girls to kiss me," Nott murmured.

That was confirmation enough. It was confirmation enough that Draco leant forward and pressed his lips against Nott's clumsily. They stared there for a moment, both of them realising that they had no idea how kissing actually worked. They were kissing, but they weren't.

They pulled away.

And Nott was looking at Draco with soft eyes and a small smile on his face. He couldn't see that - could only register the fact that he'd kissed a boy and the warm elation he'd felt at that was quickly turning to icy fear.

"You can't tell my father about this," he said. The words were coming fast and his hands were shaking. "You can't tell anyone about this."

Nott caught his hands. Nott's hands were always cold.

"How could I tell anyone about this without throwing myself under the bus as well?" Nott asked.

That soothed his stomach just a little bit. He was still shaking. He'd kissed a boy. He'd kissed a boy and fireworks had exploded in his head and across his mouth. He'd kissed a boy and it had felt _right._

He liked boys. It was a fact that had been niggling at him all year that he was trying desperately to ignore, but he liked boys.

"Draco-"

"We can't talk about this." He stood up. Back then, he was always thinking about his father. What on earth would his father think? He knew the answer to that. Crude words and crude allegations and he couldn't - he couldn't - "We can't ever talk about this."

"Draco-"

But he was already halfway to the dormitory, and Nott couldn’t risk anyone else overhearing. That had been that. By the time Nott had come into the room, he was bundled under his covers and pretending to be asleep.

They hadn’t spoken in a week.

**(Obviously, they do make friends again.)**

Draco realised he was in love in his fourth year. At the Yule Ball. Maybe he'd been in love before then, but that was when he was counting from. Mainly because it seemed more romantic - more tragic somehow - to realise then.

It was the moment that Potter walked into the hall with a mortified looking Patil twin. His hair was as unkempt as ever, his glasses as crooked as ever - he looked as uncomfortable as ever. And yet, with the dress robes, it made Draco's stomach leap uncomfortably. Those dress robes, on Potter, looked good.

His hands had been shaking as he'd put them on the Patil girl's waist, and that made Draco smirk. Harry Potter, who'd almost died at least three times at his time at Hogwarts, was nervous about dancing with a girl. Looked like he'd rather be facing a dragon again, than dancing at a ball.

What would it be like to dance with him? To have those shaking hands on his own waist? His own hands on Potter's shoulders. The thought made his heart race and he felt his cheeks warm. It was what he was thinking about when Pansy tugged him over to the dance floor. He let his eyes glaze over as he had his hands on her waist. Thinking about Harry’s waist. Thinking about the fact that Harry wasn’t dancing. What would he say if Draco went over and offered?

Probably tell him to fuck off. Probably slap his hand away in disgust and ask if he was out of his mind.

And he’d be right to.

It wasn’t like Draco had been nice to him this year. Any year, actually. There was a very long list of things he would have to apologise for before Harry would even look at him without sneering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): And that's it. The end. It's weird to think that I started writing this in the Summer term of my first year at Uni, and now I'm finished. (Still waiting to have a graduation ceremony, though.) It's really been a journey, and I've enjoyed writing this fic. It's been very cathartic to take all the things I didn't like about Deathly Hallows and change it. And it also feels like a goodbye to Harry Potter in general. The books have been dear to me for a long time, but the games? Even longer. But recent events make it hard for me to separate the art from the artist. So - that's it.
> 
> I have a lot of headcanons about Harry and Draco's children, and their life so many years on. They did not name Lily or Scorpius, but the names are a happy coincidence (especially Lily), but they did name Reggie. It's better than the infamous Albus Severus, I think. I also think it's because Reggie sounds like Ritchie, and I love It (2017) lmao.
> 
> All that's left to say is thank you. Thank you to everyone who came on this journey, whether you've been here since Hand in Glove, or just recently. Thank you for all of the support, patience, and kind words. It's truly been wonderful and I'm lucky to have reached so many people. 
> 
> All the best. <3 xx
> 
> (P.S: Check out my nanowrimo, lol: nanowrimo.org/participants/turnups/ And my instagram is isabelturnups)

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N): I said I wouldn't do it but I've been quietly messing around with a few ideas and then Rowling kept being transphobic so I thought I'd post it out of spite. So please do leave any lgbt+ headcanons downbelow and I'll do my best to make them happen.   
> Deathly Hallows is still my least favourite book and since using as a reference for events in the fic I have decided to change quite a few things with it because...there are just so many odd decisions??? I'll explain more the further we get into it.  
> As always I hope to update weekly.   
> Thank you all very much for reading and thanks in advance for any kudos/comments etc etc   
> I'll see you all next week!


End file.
